


Stars Set Alight

by ithinkyourewonderful



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 47,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkyourewonderful/pseuds/ithinkyourewonderful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't know Miranda. I just know…That I'd very much like to kiss you." </p>
<p>Eight years after Paris, Miranda and Andrea find their lives conspiring to bring them back to one another, first as acquaintances, then as friends, and then perhaps as something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Eight years after Paris, Miranda and Andrea find their lives conspiring to bring them back to one another, first as acquaintances, then as friends, and then perhaps as something more.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, never was, never will be.
> 
> Rating: T for now

"I wonder," he said, "whether the stars are set alight in heaven so that one day each one of us may find his own again..."

**Prologue**

When Andrea Sachs was seven, her best friend, Bobby McLaughlin from next door had moved away. Her oma gathered her up in her arms and let her cry it out before she wiped her granddaughter’s tear stained face and told her in her accented English: “Andrea -”  
“Andy, oma -”  
“Andy is a name for silly boys and you are neither a boy, nor silly. You are smart and capable, and one day you will grow into a beautiful woman-”  
“Like mama?”  
“Yes, like your mother. And it’s time you learned a little secret about life.”  
“A secret?”  
“Yes liebchen. Man trifft sich zweimal im Leben. Do you know what that means? Even though your friend has moved, you’ll meet him again. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow. But no one important ever leaves our lives forever. Do you understand?”  
“Yes.” Andy nodded as she lied. Her opa was never coming back after they put him in the ground, and he was important to Andy.  
“Good - now oma can’t feel her legs. So get up and play.” And with that, she handed Andy a gold wrapped caramel and sent her on her way.

* * *

The first time Andy Sachs and Miranda Priestly run into each other, years after Runway, it’s both a coincidence and a collision.

Andy, tipsy and teetering in too-high heels is arm in arm with Doug, as they help keep each other upright. They’re not drunk yet, but they will be by the time they get home. They’re laughing about something loudly as they collide into softness and cashmere coats.  
“I’m so sorry!”  
“Watch where you’re - Six?!”  
“Nigel!”  
They laugh and hug and ask questions on top of one another as they step back. For a moment, neither of them notice the chill as Miranda steps out and observes the moment. “How are you doing?” Andy asks as Nigel.  
“Oh my god - I’m great - but what are you doing here?”  
“We’re just drinking away Doug’s latest heartache and -”  
“Excuse me, just Doug’s?” Doug teases as he extends his hand out to shake.  
“Yes.” Andy replies, pointedly, “Just Doug’s.” It’s not until Doug turns to introduce himself to the person that appeared to Nigel’s side that Andy sees her. “Oh! Miranda! Hi! You um, probably don’t remember me, but I was your second assistant ages ago - “  
“Don’t be ridiculous Andrea. One doesn’t forget being stranded in Paris by their second assistant. Contrary to your behavior, it’s not a common occurrence.”  
“Yeah, about that -” She blushes and begins to apologize.  
“It was the past.” There is a firm end to that line of conversation. “Although it is nice to see you’ve managed to retain some of Nigel’s teachings.”  
“As well as yours.” Almost drunk, and certainly at a disadvantage of being caught off guard by Miranda’s presence, Andy squares her shoulders for a moment and both women regard each other. Neither of them blink or move as their eyes lock, almost daring the other to move away. She’s not the girl she was when she last saw the woman, standing outside, waving like a child. She’s 32 and a writer and somehow managed to become someone stronger, kinder, tougher - it’s due, in a not-so-small way, to the woman before her. It’s not until Miranda shifts her lip into a ghost of a smirk that Andy blinks and suddenly doesn’t feel the November chill. She doesn’t see or hear anything either. She just... can’t stop thinking how good it is to see Miranda. 

A sleek car pulls up to the curb by the group and sound enters back into her world. “Your last article, the one about the challenges in transitioning technology trends from the West to the East coast... wasn’t awful. The middle lagged, but that’s as much the editor’s fault as yours and the end brought it back quite skillfully.”  
“Wait...” Andy asks, as Miranda is about to step into the car, door held open by Nigel. “You read my article?”  
“Yes, well... it was an exceptionally slow news day.” And with that, the door closes, separating the two women and leave Nigel and Andy to exchange hasty goodbyes. “It’s good to see you. Drinks next week.” Nigel states, “And bring Doug.” He whispers in her ear as he places quick pecks on her each cheek.

The car pulls away and Andy and Doug link arms once more and begin to walk home, but the air around them is subdue. It’s as if Doug can see Andy fall down the rabbit hole of her thoughts. He’s seen it often enough. “So that was the Dragon Lady, live and in concert?”  
“No.” She corrects him, “That was Miranda.” 

The friends hug goodnight at the stairs then split off to their separate apartments. Andy feels cold. She’s been cold since Miranda complemented her. Well... her writing. She changes quickly and climbs into bed and from her bedside drawer pulls out a gold foil wrapped caramel and pops it into her mouth in hopes that she can get warm again. As she drifts off to sleep, half-mesmerized by the patterns of shadow and light coming from the traffic lights shining through her blinds, she thinks of her oma, and of how her first college boyfriend turned out to be Bobby from next door and that Miranda read her article.

* * *

Andy arrives to work the next morning with a splitting headache and a cup of scalding coffee which she almost spills all over herself when she sees the bottle of San Pellegrino and a fresh box of tylenol.

* * *

Crosstown, Miranda quickly scrawls the “Editor’s Note”, pen to paper, a comment about running into an old acquaintance and the passing of time, the maturing of self and other. Very little thought goes into it, she rather let her work speak to her audience indirectly through every other page of the magazine. She leaves it on the desk for the Assistants to deal with.


	2. Karma, Coffee and Street Corner Pizza

Andy’s pretty certain that it’s a form of karmic retribution to be assigned a newb from the paper’s semester-long internship program. It’s as if the universe wants to illustrate to her how infuriating it was to have a 24 year old assume that pluck and earnestness was all it took to get ahead in life. It was those interns who looked at her as if they pitied her, for not having the term ‘Pulitzer Prize Winning Writer’ as her honorific, or who were determined to ass kiss their way past her. It was the same way she looked at others once, a lifetime ago, convinced that she could and would succeed where they failed. And for the most part, she had. She had a comfortable life. She was finally a respected writer at the Mirror, had covered the last election, had covered the withdrawal of troops (and their subsequent return to America), she had freelanced and ghostwrote articles for Vanity Fair, Time, Rolling Stone, The Atlantic - and, her proudest accomplishment, Harper’s.

All in all, Andrea Sachs was pretty happy where her life was at this moment. She had an apartment that she could pay rent on all on her own (no small feat in New York), she had a handful of friends that should call on for brunch or bail (this wasn’t hyperbole, but had indeed had to call Doug for bail after covering the Occupy riots), she even had a savings account. It was a good life, if not extraordinary. Yes, sometimes she got cold in bed and wished for another body to curl up to, and yes, she wished she could bring home someone for the holidays, or share a bottle of wine with, but other than that, she was quite content. At times, she could even say she was happy.

Taking a deep breath and sending a prayer up to whichever deity it was who dealt out karmic blessings for an intern who was better than the asshat from last year, Andy pushes open the door to her office (a recent promotion which still manages to make her smile every time she sees her name painted on the door) and steps in to greet her new shadow. 

Standing at the window, looking down at the traffic on the streets is a young woman, strawberry blonde hair neatly braided, dressed in jeans and a white blouse. Her equestrian boots are brown leather and beautiful and for a moment, Andy is taken aback by how this ... child really, seems to belong in that office more than Andy does. Realizing the office door has opened, the woman turns and Andy smiles. For all of her clothes and her regality, this was a young woman, clearly nervous and clearly eager to make a good impression. “Ms. Sachs, hi. I’m sorry, they said to wait for you here and I wasn’t sure how long you’d be and - anyways... I’m rambling. I’m really excited to meet you.”  
“I’m glad to meet you as well,” Andy smiles as she drops some files onto her desk, “But I feel I’m at a bit of a disadvantage. You know about me, but I don’t know much about you.”  
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She wipes her hands on her jeans before reaching out to to shake Andy’s. “I’m the intern assigned to you. I’m Caroline. Caroline Priestly.”

Andy was very glad to have put the files down, because if she held on to them, she’d have dropped them for certain.  
“Ah. You knew I was coming right, I wasn’t like, a total shock or anything?”  
“You know,” Andy said, sidestepping the question as she grabbed her wallet from the top of the drawer, “Let’s grab a cup of coffee.”

* * *

It was over the cup of coffee that Andy realized a number of things:  
1) Caroline didn’t remember her. And why should she? Save for a handful of conversations through the railing and one ill-gotten manuscript, their interactions were minimal.  
2) Caroline is incredibly intelligent. In fact, Caroline may actually be as smart as Andy though she was when she was that age.  
3) Caroline is ... the type of person she’d be friends with in school. Smart, with a wickedly sharp sense of humor buried beneath the quiet exterior, betrayed by nothing more than a twinkle of blue eyes or a slight curve of her lips. 

It’s not until they’re at the end of their coffee and have exchanged thoughts on recent world events, past projects, schools that Andy has Caroline relaxed enough to ask what Caroline has danced around all morning. “So, do you want me to ask?”  
“About?”  
“...” Andy raises a single eye and purses her lips.  
“My mother?”  
“No. I know all about your mother.” Andy notices Caroline’s lips straighten into a straight line and her shoulders straighten for a fight. “As much as any assistant of hers can know about the great Miranda Priestly. Do you want me to ask about how you got this internship? It’s pretty competitive.”  
“Same as the other interns. I worked for it and I applied for it and I begged every prof of mine for letters of reference. My mother had nothing to do with it. In fact, she’s less than pleased -”  
“That it’s the Mirror?”  
“No, that I didn’t ask her for help. I even applied under a fake name to make sure she didn’t find out.”  
“Never underestimate a Priestly.”  
“Pretty much. Listen Andy - I worked my ass off to get here. I’m excited to learn from the ground up. But if you don’t think you can teach me everything I need, then I need to find -”  
“Hold your horses there - no one can teach you everything you need. But I admire what you did, so I have no problems with you, or your mother.” For all she could say about Miranda Priestly, she was a much better person having lived through her. Nobody had expected such levels of excellence, of perfection before, even from something as simple a coffee order. “I just want to make it clear, I’m going to be tough on you not because who you are or what your name is, but because if you’re going to be as amazing as you can be, you’ve got to build a thick skin...”

And that’s how Caroline Priestly returned into Andy’s life again.

Truth be told, it made Andy feel old to realize that the demon child she used to be terrified of was the grown woman who sat beside her on the subway, or grabbed her coffee, or who fact-checked for her. Much like her mother, Caroline had a eye for detail and often brought a unique angle to whatever the assignment or story was. She picked up the names and roles of almost everyone in the building and was keen on learning from every last one of them. They very quickly became friendly - between sharing lunches, or darting across the city chasing leads or interviewing people, there was a lot of time to get to know one another. Friendly became friends, starting with running into Caroline and her boyfriend Josh at a concert, then the occasional drink after work (which would lead to street corner pizza, because why not?). 

In fact, it was due to one of those less-than-sober nights eating scalding slices of pizza somewhere along First Ave, where Andy and Josh convince Caroline to go ahead with Cassidy’s text-based demands for a birthday party.

And it’s that very birthday party that brings Miranda Priestly back into Andy’s life again.


	3. Oooh Oooh Oooh Oooh Oooh Oooh Oooh

The plan for the party, as much as Caroline + Cassidy explained to her over an impromptu coffee date last weekend was karaoke and drinking until their voices were hoarse, then all the Korean barbecue they could handle, then a 4a trip to the bath house next door for just the two of them. They had their fill of over-the-top extravaganzas in their youth and as life got increasingly busy, they had discovered the simple pleasures of spending time with each other and their friends. “Mom’s invited, obviously -”  
“But can you imagine her stepping foot in that bar?” Cassidy asked, her eyebrow raised in a perfect homage to the woman in question. “Or the bath house?” Caroline chimed in. There was no need to answer, all three women knew that the great Miranda Priestly would never deign to enter such places, even for her darling daughters. “So we’re doing dinner with her -” Caroline begins to explain.  
“The next night.” Cassidy finishes.  
“Obviously.” Andy laughs, her head almost spinning trying to keep up with them. When the two of them got together, they reverted back to their childhood patter, talking over one another, finishing each other’s sentences and thoughts. Contrary to popular belief about twins, they weren’t drastically different. They were as alike and as different as any two sisters, both smart, both strong, both driven, albeit in two different paths. While Caroline was drawn to writing and journalism, Cassidy was drawn to maths. She was studying something so abstract and theoretical that Andy wasn’t sure she could even spell it if pressed, let alone explain it. Her friendship with Cassidy grew almost as naturally as her friendship with Caroline, with one sister showing up with the other occasionally in tow.

* * *

Stepping onto the sticky floor of the karaoke bar somewhere above a 24 hour Korean barbecue place in Midtown, Andy realizes she’s not a twenty-something any more, and is thankful for that fact. The Priestly twins had booked out the karaoke bar for their 23rd birthday and it was packed. Depositing her gifts on the pile in a booth, Andy reserves her spot on the karaoke queue and makes her way to through the crowd to the birthday girls. 

Meanwhile...

As she made her way up the stairs, sticky with what she hopes is beer and not any bodily functions, Miranda is glad for the subtle warning her second assistant Erica provided her with when she noticed the karaoke bar on Miranda’s schedule. She was too smart to ask why, only mentioning that she had been there once and would Miranda like her to fetch a change of clothes from the Closet. So Miranda is now clad in something suitably disposable. She may have given up her body and her hair colour for her children, but she’d be damned if she’d sacrifice her favorite vintage Chanel suit. Besides, their birthday isn’t until tomorrow.

The room is blue-lit and smoky - she can’t tell if it’s from the restaurant below or cigarette smoke or even artificial smoke designed to remind them all of the days of smoking indoors (do these children even remember those days?). Either way, she doesn’t care for it. She almost regrets coming, but knows the shock on her Bobbsey’s faces will be worth it. Their boyfriends have been made aware of her plans to visit for a few minutes, a subtle request to keep debauchary in check until after she leaves. She was 23 once and is aware what happens, but just because she knows, doesn’t mean she needs to witness it. From the door, she looks out, searching for the girls - with their light hair in the blue light, it’s not difficult to spot them, together, in the centre of a group. They’re lovely. Of course they are. They’re her children. But more than being just lovely to look at, they are lovely women. She sometimes wonders on empty nights at home how they became as lovely as they did. She wasn’t home as often as she’d like, she provided a horrible example of romantic love, or even friendship. And yet, here they were, surrounded by friends. Miranda knew life would get difficult for her daughters, but she said a small prayer that they would be able to hold onto moments like this for as long as possible.

She feels more tired than she had originally thought, and decides to stay for only a few moments before leaving. She makes her way towards her girls when her eye catches...something. She’s used to this in a way. A sudden glimpse of something as she’s in her car, or entering a building for a meeting, boarding a plane - all sorts of innocuous places and activities catch her eye and leave her mind wandering and wondering with the possibilities. It’s the source of her ideas and her inspirations and this is no exception. Beside Cassidy is a cascade of brown hair, strong jaw, marble skin, crooked smile - beautiful, but not a beauty. Familiar, but refreshing. She’s talking, hands animated, and it’s not until her head turns and she looks directly into Miranda does she recognize Andrea. Based on the way the Andrea’s eyes light up and her arm goes up to wave, she’s recognized as well. Quickly her girls turn to see her, grins all across their faces! It’s moments like this that breaks Miranda’s heart with love for her girls. Because at 23, they are still capable of having a carefree night that. 

The girls quickly wrap her up in hugs and introduce her to the rest of the group - interrupted by applause as the latest singer on stage finishes their song and then announces “Next one up is... Andy! Where are you Andy?!” The group around them cheer loudly and whoop and even in the eery light, Miranda can see the other woman’s face take on a blush as she’s pushed towards the stage. 

 

“Oh god - this is embarrassing.” Andrea mutters into the mike as she squints out into the audience. “I’m not nearly drunk enough to do this and you’re all nearly not drunk enough to think I sound good... You guys out there have to help me, promise?” A beat familiar to even Miranda begins as Cassidy leans her head on her mother’s shoulder and whispers, “This is going to be soooo bad!”  
“Like cats, Andrea is quite skilled at landing on her feet dearest, I wouldn’t worry too much about her.” 

When Andrea gets to the backing vocals, as iconic as anything else in pop music, Miranda recalls the song and smiles. The memories she had of this song... She begins to feel warm at the memories. Her foot begins to tap as the party begins to sing along with Andrea, the room echoing with the rhythmic oooohhs. The song ends, and the party begins talking again, as Andrea hands the microphone off to the next person and makes her way through the crowds to them. “Ladies, I believe I saw your names coming up...” She teases as she walks by them towards the bar. She smiles at Miranda but doesn’t say anything more. 

It’s not until the girls are mid-song, something awful that Andrea returns, offering one of two bottles of San Pellegrino to Miranda. “You don’t work for me anymore Andrea.” She remarks, but accepts the bottle. The smoke has irritated her throat.  
“Old habits die hard.” Andrea volleys, her eyes sparkling.   
“Does that explain your outfit?”  
“That’s it? That’s the best remark you’ve got for me? Call Page Six, I think you’ve lost your touch.” Andrea nudges her playfully, shoulder to shoulder.  
“Perhaps my heart isn’t into making you cower in fear anymore?”  
“Really? Then what is your heart into these days?” The question itself is fairly innocent, all the same, she can’t help but feel startled at it. “Consider it a thank you.” Andrea continues, sipping from the bottle, “The tylenol came in handy, I hate to say.”  
“I had a feeling it would. To be young and foolish.” Miranda smirks.  
“To being young and foolish then,” Andy toasts, tapping her bottle against Miranda’s. “Although this room is making me feel one much more than the other.” Noticing two seats open up at the bar, she guides them over.  
“I wanted to thank you...” Miranda finally begins, looking at the bartender instead of the woman now seated at her elbow. “For being so careful of Caroline. A less gracious person would take advantage of the situation.”  
“That was almost a complement Miranda. Perhaps you really have lost your touch.” Andy teases. “Caroline got the job on her own. She’s smart, resourceful, driven, and as hard working as she is talented, much like her mother.”  
“Yes well, let’s hope that’s all she inherits from her mother.”

 

They sit in silence for a moment before Andy asks, “When I was up there I could see you, and you were looking so...”  
“Use your words dear.”  
“I’m trying to select the right one - there’s a bit of performance anxiety happening right now.”  
“Do you know,” Miranda begins, gazing at their reflection in the mirror behind the bar and changing the topic, “That this was all the garment district?” She speaks so softly that Andy has to lean in to hear.  
“It still is.”  
“No, what I mean, they used manufacture here. Armies of cutters and pattern makers and seamstresses and tailors worked here. This building was so familiar when the car pulled up, and it’s not until we sat down that I recalled that this was one of the fitting studios. These mirrors are older than the girls.” She pulls out her phone and taps a few short words. “Well thank you Andrea. It was unexpected, but lovely to see you.” Her voice changes, reverts back to standard volume.  
“Are you leaving? So soon?”  
“Erica will be stoping by with the book soon.”  
“Of course...” Andy gets up, “I should be going too. Do you mind if I walk out with you?”  
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”  
“I’m not as young as I once was Miranda.” She smirks, “Neither of us are.” Waving goodbye to the girls across the room, they take their leave, Shoulder to shoulder through the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, sorry for the delay! I'm about 10 chapters in and realized I had to rework the first few, so :/ My goal is to post pretty consistently now that the whole story is outlined and I'm already half-way through. Second of all - Korea Town is amazing and incredible and if you're in New York, you should totally swing by!


	4. She's A Hypnotist Collector

“Hey, mind some company for dinner?” Caroline asks Andy as they begin wrapping up for the day. “Cass said she snagged tickets for the show tonight.”  
“Sure - she ok with Thai? Because I’m having a craving for the drunken noodle around the corner from Carnegie.”  
“When is she not ok with Thai food?” Caroline teases as they head out the door.

* * *

Cassidy is already waiting for them when they get to the restaurant, an almost underground place a few blocks away. “Who’s the fourth?”  
Andy asks as they seat themselves down. “Oh, maybe mom. She said she may try to make it after all. Apparently, and I quote: the staff showed less incompetence than usual.”  
“High praise indeed.” Andy remarked, taking a sip of water.  
“How is it, Andrea, that I have gone so many years without once crossing paths with you and now, here you are, practically around every corner?” A familiar voice remarked, causing the brunette to all but choke on her water. While Miranda’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, a quick glance up reveals despite a firmly set pair of lips and a single raised brow, her eyes have a hint of a sparkle.  
“Just your good fortune.” Andy remarks, smirking. “You should buy a lottery ticket on your way home.”  
“I’ll be sure to do that. Hello dears...” They all rise, and Miranda briefly pecks them on the cheek as greeting, including Andrea. Andy had forgotten how heady Miranda’s particular scent could be. 

“Did you have a hard time finding this place mom?” Cassidy asks after the waiter has taken their orders.  
“No dear, I think I’ve finally gotten the hang of navigating New York.” She responds with a smirk. “Although I have never been here. The walls...” She raises a hand to the intricately carved tableaus that cover the walls from floor to ceiling.  
“Are beautiful, aren’t they?” Andy asks, touching an elephant beside Miranda’s hand. “It reminded me of being back in Thailand.”  
“Have you gone?” Miranda asks, her fingers still hovering by the elephant between them.  
“Twice. Once for a wedding, and once after a long project ended. Yourself?”  
“A few times. Thank you.” She withdraws her hand as the waiter places their meals before them. “Should I be concerned by how quick that was?”  
“A perk of being a regular, apparently.” Caroline smirks at Andy. “So, is this a meal break, mom, or is the warden actually going to take a night off and join us?”  
“The Warden?” Andy asks between bites.  
“The children’s nickname for me. Other mothers get such cloying ones. Nothing like those my loving children provide for me.” She plucks a piece of chicken from her plate before proceeding, “If it doesn’t interrupt your plans, I was thinking of attending. I ended up missing Bob’s last show in the city.”  
“Bob?”  
“Dylan.” Cassidy answers.  
“The headliner.” Caroline explains.  
“I know, sorry, I just... haven’t heard him referred to as Bob is all...”  
“Yes well, now you have. Who else is playing?”

* * *

After dinner, they wander the few blocks to Carnegie Hall, the twins, catching up on each other’s lives with a rapid fire exchange ahead of them. “I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t have taken you for a Dylan fan,” Andy began as they make their way through the crowd pouring into the lobby. “Dare I ask why not?” Miranda asks as she wordlessly guides them to the VIP lounge behind some makeshift curtains. “I’m not sure...too counterculture perhaps?”  
“And I am the establishment?”  
“I didn’t say that.”  
“You didn’t need to. Two San Pellegrinos, two gin and tonics.” She requests from a wandering waiter as they settle at a small table. “I remember now, a faint memory of your righteous indignation at working at something as frivolous as Runway.”  
“The girls?” Andy asks, desperate to change the subject.  
“Will find us. We however we discussing your inability to vocalize your thoughts - in this case, on my role in culture. This hesitation in speaking, this is new and I don’t think I care much for it. Is that why you take to writing? The distance to organize words into neat little sentences?”  
“Writing should be neat.”  
“Writing should be structured. True writers rarely write neat. Neat is polite, Andrea. Neat bows before and serves and preserves the establishment. I should know, shouldn’t I?” Miranda’s blue eyes twinkle and Andy smiles, realizing the other woman is enjoying this. They are running through paces they don’t often get to run with others. “It depends on what the purpose of the writing is, doesn’t it? If I am informing you of the weather, or the results of an election -”  
“All the more reason to take a risk. Take Bob, Mr. Dylan, if you insist. The man took the neat songs and repurposed them into rallying cries.”  
“You could also say he stole these neat songs from other cultures.”  
“As his own culture was stolen from him? What is the truism, good artists borrow, great artists steal?”  
“But is that justification? Can you justify or excuse an act of cultural re-appropriation with this own cultural history?”  
“But who or what decides on what cultural re-appropriation is? Are we to stay in our safe little boxes in our safe little worlds? Should one never evolve from that coltish child from the midwest to this worldly woman trading philosophical discussions on art and culture.”  
“How...” Andrea lowers her head and blushes as she tries to hide her smile. “How did we get here?”  
“We crossed 57th and...”  
“I meant the conversation.”  
“Ah.” Miranda places her hand on Andrea’s, resting on the table beside her drink. “Because I willed it. Caroline sees you as a mentor and I wanted to see if you were worthy of it.”  
“Am I?”

Miranda simply smiles like the sphinx before taking a final sip. “I do believe they’re beginning soon. Are you working tonight?”  
“If you can call doing a concert feature work, then yes.”  
“You’re seated in the press box?”  
“Yes, shall I walk you to your seat?”  
“As we’re neighbors, you may walk with me, yes. Did you have a chance to speak to Bob?”  
“No, I managed to speak to the other performers, why they’re participating in the fundraiser but he was booked.” Together, they make their way through the bodies streaming into the auditorium.  
“Shame.” Miranda realizes that she’s standing alone, with a quick look back, she sees Andrea stopping a step behind, taking a look around at the modest venue. “Andrea?”  
“Sorry,” She quickly returns beside Miranda and they continue walking down the aisle.  
“Your first time at Carnegie?”  
“Not at all, but every time I...It’s silly. But I’m always just, in awe of everyone who’s ever played here. Like, can you imagine?”  
“I can.”  
“You know, my mother’s greatest dream was to play piano on this stage.”  
“Your mother plays piano?  
“Not well, but a little. She’s a science teacher. But she’s always said, it’s good to have dreams, no matter how silly, it’s good to have hope.” Andrea ducks her head again, “Sorry, I... don’t know why that came up.”  
“I’m not. Sorry that is. We must hope for everything.”  
“Euripides. Here we are.” Andrea gestures to the press box is nothing more than a row of folding chairs in the open area between the front of the orchestra seating and the stage.  
“Indeed.”

Andy quickly drops off her belongings and makes her apologizes as leaves to begin work, promising to return as the performances start.

“What did you and Andy get into mom?” Cassidy asked, “We turned around and you two were gone.”  
“We were just speaking dear.”  
“About?” Caroline prodded.  
“I don’t know, what does one talk about with that girl? This and that. Now, tell me all about school Cassidy. Your thesis is coming along?” She tunes out the answer, knowing Cassidy’s penchant for going into minute details about her studies. She glances around at all the ‘names’ and their hangers on who circulate, waiting for the concert to begin, some benefit for or another. Frankly, she’s getting so tired of all of them, one after another. Benefit concerts are the new runway shows, new film openings - a necessary and annoying part of her job. She’s glad she rose through the ranks when she did, without all this aggressive self-promotion. When did people find the time to actually work while they were posing for an incessant number of selfies, usies, paparazzi shoots and sex tapes?

True to her word, Andy returns as the lights go down and shuffles into the only available seat left, beside Miranda. She dutifully jots notes down on a pad of paper, and pulls her iPad out during act changes to draft the interviews and notes into a cohesive article. She makes the occasional comment, participating the the Priestly women’s conversation, but remains wholly focused on her work. A quality Miranda finds unsurprising but refreshing. In fact, it’s not until the final act of the evening that she sees Andrea pause working. She can’t help but find her eyes drifting to the young woman bathed in the castoff stage lights beside her, study her profile, her posture (which is atrocious truth be told), the way she bit her lip to keep from mouthing the words. This woman was... curious. How does someone remain as guileless as she had in a city like this? From the depths of her memory she can vaguely recall a scene in Paris, with Andrea fleeing from her. How can it be that now she’s here, willingly, if not for some ulterior motive. Perhaps she spoke too soon about her kindness towards Caro, perhaps this was all - 

As the next song begins, Miranda notices Andrea’s breath catch as she grabs Miranda’s hand in her excitement. “This is my favorite!” She whispers reverently, a blinding smile breaking out across her face before she returns her attention to the stage. 

Andrea can’t help but squirm in her seat, with joy - here she is, less than 15 feet away from this legend, singing her favorite song. She can’t help but mouth along to the words:

 

“She's an artist, she don't look back, she can take the dark out of nighttime, and paint the daytime black.”

 

This was the song that helped her pick herself up from whatever disappointments life handed to her. One day, she would tell herself, she would be as mysterious, as enchanting as the woman he was singing about... She feels something in her hand and a look down reveals Miranda’s hand still grasped between her fingers. She quickly drops it, as if it burns her very skin and turns her attention back to the stage with a quick “Sorry.”

 

“She never stumbles, she’s got no place to fall. She never stumbles, she’s got no place to fall. She’s nobody’s child. The law can’t touch her at all.”

 

Andrea can feel her cheeks burn and she can’t help but look back to Miranda who is looking at her instead of the stage. Miranda, who responds with a raised eyebrow and a pursed lip, questioning her without words. “You.” Andrea begins, realizing they’re seated incredibly close together. How did she not notice this before? This song was about Miranda, at least it was to her.

 

“She's a hypnotist collector. You are a walking antique. Bow down to her on Sunday, salute her when her birthday comes”

 

Andy turns away, suddenly embarrassed at her childlike response. This song wasn’t about Miranda. It was about Joan Baez, and an amalgamation of other women. All of whom were as curiously mysterious as Miranda. No wonder he was compelled enough to write about their power, he had no choice, he was powerless against them. As was anyone against Miranda. Even in the dark, she appeared singularly lit from within and without, and no matter what she told herself, she would never be that woman. She would never know what that power felt like, to bring grown men to their knees with just her presence. She would always be a coltish child from - “Andrea!” Miranda’s sharp reprimand pulled her from her spiral, “Stand.”  
“Right,” Andrea stood to join the crowd, applauding at the end. “Standing.”  
“Are you alright?”  
“Yes... I am, sorry. I got...”  
“Lost. He can do that.” The older woman gazed on her, deciding if she wanted to press the issue, but decided against it. “When’s your article due?” She asks as Andrea automatically helps her into her coat.  
“Oh, in about 45 minutes or so.” She answers as she clears a path for Miranda and the girls through the crowd towards the street.  
“Hmmmm... Just enough time to get you backstage then.” Miranda explains as her car pulls up to the curb. “At the door, ask for Monica. Let her know I sent you. She’ll get you a couple of minutes with Bob. Girls, if I’m dropping you home...”  
“Bye Andy!”  
“See you tomorrow!”  
“Bye!” She hugs the girls, but before she gets to Miranda, the woman is already in the car. “Remember, Monica. Now go.” She calls from the window before the car pulls away, leaving Andy alone and stunned on the street.

* * *

The next morning, Andy wakes to a text from Doug containing a blurry black and white photo. She can’t make out the blurry blobs, but the caption reads “The Dragon, Miranda Priestly, babysits her daughters and a friend”. Andy drags herself out of bed with the sneaking suspicion that this day will only get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to Bob Dylan's 'She Belongs to Me'. If you're not a Dylan fan, I suggest giving Ane Brun's cover a listen.


	5. Come On-A My House

“Let me get this straight,” Andy begins, pushing the shopping cart through the after-work crowds at Trader Joe’s, “You dumped David, soooo...”  
“So we eat pasta.”  
“And drink wine.”  
“A lot of both.”  
“It’s like, tradition.”  
“Like, Christmas.”  
"But like, more frequent?"  
"I was going to say fun."  
A brief pause in the conversation as Andrea tries to digest it all. "Breaking up is fun for you?" Andy asked as she watched the twins toss in their items as quickly as they tossed about their lines, breaking down to add a box of chocolate covered s’mores.  
"Not the breaking up part, that's necessary - but this part... I don't know... It always reminds me of... Help me out here Caro, you're the writer with the words." Cassidy teased, "You know what I'm trying to say."  
"Sure.  Andy, were you ever scared or confused?"  
"You mean, more than watching you two share a brain right now?” The twins merely roll their eyes as they navigate into line.  "Yeah, I mean, who hasn't been scared?"  
"And what makes you feel...safe, or better?” Cassidy begins.  
"It's something silly right?” Caroline explains, trudging forward in the queue. “Like, so silly you'd laugh, except you don't want us to laugh so you won't tell us. Well, this was the same. Is the same. After any sort of major relationship change, we kinda... just... Get together and eat pasta -"  
"Mom too,” Cassidy interjects, “And she's not allowed to say anything about carbs or waistlines! We eat pasta and drink some wine, and just...have fun."  
"And you're going to share that with me?” Andy asks, smiling at the thought, “Guys, I'm..."  
"You're not going to start crying are you?"  
"Shut up, no! I'm... I feel really special that I've been invited to participate in Pasta-palooza!”  
“Don’t call it that.” Cassidy deadpans.  
“Especially not in front of mom.” Caroline confirms.  
“Ever.”

The identical looks on their faces suggest they aren’t joking.

* * *

The smell of something delicious hits Miranda immediately, followed by the sounds of Mel Tormé. The thought that the whole of her house smells of garlic is a distant secondary thought. “Bandits who make dinner? New York really has changed from the dark days, dear.” Nigel quips as he steps in behind her. “Now that would be a spread, wouldn’t it?” She ponders, “The gritty heyday of 42nd and the independent boutiques of the 70s versus the clean, cookie cutter streets and shops of now. An American Apparel on every corner.”  
“The advertisers would hate you.”  
“More than they already do?” Miranda deadpans. “Is that possible? Girls, I’m home!”

They shed their coats and belongings at the front door and make their way through the house, finding her babies cross-legged on the floor in her study, a pile of records all around them. “Mom!”  
“Uncle Nigel!” They scamper up with a speed that Miranda and Nigel both wordlessly envy. “You have the coolest record collection mom!”  
“Do you know this was an original pressing?!”  
“Yes Bobbseys… Not that I mind, but what’s going on?”  
“Well...”  
“David’s gone.”  
“As in Cassidy dumped him.”  
“And since you mentioned Uncle Nigel would be coming over...”  
“We figured we’d invite Andy too…”  
“Am I babysitting you lot again tonight?” Miranda comments, having already drifted away to the doorway of the kitchen.

From her vantage point she watches as Andrea stirs a pot before replacing the lid and turns to continue chopping up a salad while humming along to the music. She can’t recall the last time this kitchen has seen singing. At least not since the girls have moved out. “You know, there are at least 28 Italian places in the neighborhood.” Miranda begins, watching as the other woman whirls around, knife in hand. “I know because I had a second assistant count once. We could’ve had any one of them deliver.”  
“Miranda! Hi! You surprised me! I’ll clean up, I promise!” Andrea begins to stammer. “We just wanted to do something here and they wanted to make dinner -”  
“So why aren’t they here with you?”  
“They helped. They boiled water and...”  
“And...” Miranda fights a smile as she makes her way to the stove. “They will do the dishes. They know I abhor a mess after dinner.” She opens a drawer and pulls out a spoon and samples the sauce bubbling in the pot.  
“You’ll get sauce on you.” Andrea warns as she returns to chopping the salad.  
“I wouldn’t hear of it.” Miranda remarks placing the lid back on the pot.  
“This is a really nice tradition you and the girls have. It’s kind of sweet. How did it start? They said th-”  
“I should change.” Miranda interrupts, turning abruptly on her heel and breezes out the room. She didn’t want to hear this stranger, this child really, intruding on her life, the nerve of her, reappearing at around every corner in the city and her house. “Nigel!” She calls out as she climbs the stairs with more force than necessary. “Make yourself useful and pick out some wine for dinner.”  
“Yes dear,” Instantly, Nigel appears, as if he was in the doorway all along.  
“Hey Nigel.”  
“Hmmmmm...” He smiles, eyebrow raised.  
“What?” Andy asks, a confused look on her face.  
“Hmmmmm indeed.”  
“What is going on with everyone today?” Andy asks again, shaking her head and turning to toss the salad and drain the pasta.

Dinner is a fun affair, though the ridiculous amount of wine may have something to do with it. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth bottle, the girls and Nigel have moved to the living room where he plies them with promises of bouffant hairdos and cat eyes to match the music, moving onto vinyl recordings of Bobby Darin and Della Reese. Miranda and Andrea, however, are lingering at the kitchen table, comfortable. “How long have you all been doing this?” Andy asks again, bold with the courage that comes with a third glass of red.  
“Acting like lunatics?” Miranda drawls, an almost smile on her face.  
“Having fun. If memory serves me correctly, fun was something that was decidedly undignified for the Priestly women.”  
“Are you saying we are being undignified Andrea?” Miranda feigns shock.  
“Never Miranda!” Andy mocks in return. “I’m simply thinking how fortunate I am to be witness this historic moment in history. ”  
“Andrea, I do believe you’re drunk.”  
“And you, Miranda, are not drunk enough.” Andy pours another glass of wine in Miranda’s glass before rising from her seat and begins to gather the dishes.  
“The girls can do it.”  
“They’re having fun,” Andy shrugs, “Besides, apparently someone abhors a mess after dinner.” She’s so focused on rinsing the dishes and not dropping any as she places them in the dishwasher that she doesn’t realize Miranda has come up behind her. She freezes as she feels the warmth of the other woman wrap her arms around her waist...wrap an apron around her waist. Andy feels the blood rush to her cheeks. “There.” She hears the older woman murmur before stepping back, as she tied the apron strings behind her. “We wouldn’t want your outfit to fall victim to my whims, would we?”  
“It would be a worthy cause,” Andy concedes softly before returning to the task at hand.  
“Would it?”  
“It would.”

Miranda leans against the counter, wine glass in hand, watching the other woman before her. She’s going to pay the price tomorrow for this indulgence. Too much pasta, too much wine, too much talking. “We started after Paris. That year. That you left. After Stephen left.” Andrea looks at her, red cheeked and sorrowful eyes. “That wasn’t a slight at you. It was an event marker is all. I don’t even know why it registered.” Miranda honestly doesn’t. “I came home, and one night, the girls had made pasta, I didn’t even know they could boil water, but apparently they could. They had Cara help them pick out a wine, and we had dinner. And I can still remember looking across the table at them, and realizing that my babies weren’t babies, and they were going to leave me too. Everyone leaves eventually, don’t they Andrea?” She looks at the other woman, not with tears in her blue eyes, but strength, a challenge to defy that fact.  
“Some of us come back Miranda.” Andy responds, her smile crooked but earnest, reaching her eyes.  
“Hmmmmm.” Miranda neither agrees or argues, simply puts her glass down and unties Andrea’s apron before leaving the kitchen. “Come, we should join the others.”

Andy takes the moment alone to take a deep breath and settle her nerves. Why nerves? It must be the wine. She won’t drink anymore tonight she promises to herself as she shuts the dishwasher door and makes her way into the living room with the others.

She stands beside Caroline, who’s watching Nigel and Cassidy try to cha-cha, or do something that seemed much more complicated then it should be.  
“You ok Andy? You’re blushing.” Caroline asks as she looks at her friend beside her  
“Yeah, I um... it’s the wine.” Andy comments as she goes to busy herself with the stack of records beside them. “Hmmmmmmmmm.” Caroline softly comments, eyebrow raised, lips pursed, as she watches her mother across the room, doing anything and everything but looking at them. Maybe Cassidy was on to something after all?


	6. 7291 Things More Fascinating Than Andrea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thanks :)... Things'll start to pick up much quicker, I promise. As always, if you have any thoughts, comments, suggestions, encouragements etc, feel free to drop them in Reviews or DM me

Fartbutt: Wasn’t it your idea in the first place?  
Pukeface: Yeah, but I was probably drunk. And it was before I knew you wanted me to give up dinner there!  
Fartbutt: I’ll take you some other time.  
Pukeface: ::neutral face emoji::  
Fartbutt: Come on, for Mom? It’s not like she has a lot of friends.  
Pukeface: That’s so mean.  
Pukeface: Also a little true.  
Fartbutt: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

* * *

She is surprised, certainly, when she spots Andrea peeking into the dining room of Eleven Madison Park. She’s even more surprised when she’s lead straight to her table by the Maître d’ who seats her while another waiter swiftly removes the empty place setting. “We’re still waiting for my daughters.” Miranda declares, her eyebrows raised at the gaul of removing the tables. “Forgive me, Ms. Priestly, but they called and said the reservation was for two, not the original three requested.” He nods, then wordlessly glides back to his post. “Well, this is unexpected.” Miranda comments, eyeing Andrea across from her, her cheeks red with…some girlish emotion, or perhaps it was the wind? Was it windy out? She should - “I was going to go with awkward.” Andy stammers, pulling Miranda out of tangent her mind was going down.   
“Do you know what’s going on? Are they alright?”  
“They were fine - I was supposed to meet Caroline to go over some stuff when…she sent me ahead and said she’d meet me. You know?” Andy rose quickly, placing her napkin on the table. “I should leave, there’s been a mix up or a -”  
“Do sit down.” Miranda dismissively indicates to the empty chair before her, “You’re causing a scene.”  
“I’m not who you were expecting.”  
“Did you have other plans?”  
“Well...no.” Andy thought of the leftover takeout waiting in her fridge. It would be just as good tomorrow for breakfast.  
“Sit.” A quick wave of her hand, and as if by magic, a waiter appears to pull out Andy’s chair, reset her napkin on her lap and present her with a menu. Miranda, meanwhile, glances at her phone. “It appears Caroline has been inspired by the muses to rewrite.”  
“I bet it’s her evil boss.” Andy deadpans, trying to shake off the awkwardness.  
“One might call her a Dragon Lady.”  
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Andy feigns offense over the top of the menu.   
“Do you know what she's working on?”   
“If it’s what I think is, then yes. It’s a chance for her first bi-line if she can get it to me by tomorrow morning.”  
“Planning on replacing her name with yours, are you?”  
“Not a bad idea now that you mention it.” They share raised eyebrows and mouths struggling to hide their smirks.   
“You are entirely too much like myself Andrea.”  
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

They quickly order and rid themselves of the menus. They do not comment on Miranda’s remark.

“I was just thinking -” Andrea begins, building a pause into the conversation. “Awww, come on, that’s like the perfect opening for you to remark with something like, ‘don’t hurt yourself’ or ‘that’ new’!”  
“Well I do hate to be predictable, but if you insist, I ensure you I will find some way of insulting you at least once before the end of the night.”  
“Thank you, because I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you didn’t. But I was thinking about how funny it is - we went, 5 or 6 years without seeing each other, and now, here we are, having dinner together. Again.”  
“I wouldn’t say it was funny.”  
“Not ha-ha funny, but curious, don’t you think?”  
“I will say, it’s unexpected but not necessarily unpleasant. One might even suspect a set up.”

Their first course appears and the conversation shifts to work. Andy refuses to mention Caroline’s potential article, refusing to undercut the other woman’s accomplishment of being able to share it with her mother. “There’s something so...rewarding in being able to share something like that with your parents for the first time. Don’t you think? I still remember sending mine a photo of it at like, 4a, when it came off the press. I mean, it was buried in the back pages, but it was there. In black and white. Do you still get that... thrill? When you see the final copy? Of being able to share what’s in your mind with the world?”  
“No. Often, I look at it and I see the imperfections. I think ‘If I had more time’ or ‘if we had gone with Marcus’ photographer instead of Georg’s’. I..see my mistakes.”  
“You’re owning the faults, you take them on instead of share them. Isn’t it collaborative?”  
“Someone must own them Andrea. That is my my job. To bring the vision to reality and fruition. To create beauty where there was once nothing.”  
“Then what’s the job of the staff?”  
“To be the tools I use. While it’s billed as a collaboration, ultimately... I am the creator and the critic and all faults were a result of my choices and selections. What?”   
“Nothing...a lot of things.” Andrea shakes softly as she smiles. “That just seems like an incredibly exhausting way to look at life. And then I remembered who I’m talking to, the Great Miranda Priestly, then I thought...” Miranda feels a warmth on her hand as Andrea places hers over it. She allows it to remain there until their main course arrives.

“Tell me Andrea,” Miranda begins, tactfully navigating the conversation towards the other woman, feeling more vulnerable than she has in a very long time. “How is your novel coming along?”  
“My novel?”  
“You are a writer aren’t you? Aren’t you all working on the next great American novel, or book of Tibetan haikus?”  
“Oh, outside of work.”  
“Please tell me you’re not squandering your time on some sort of dreadful pap for the masses.” Miranda’s voice takes on the familiar edge. “Fifty Shades of Vampires or some such?”  
“I wish, it would pay a lot more than what I’m currently working on...”  
“Which is?”  
“A work in progress.” She deflects, suddenly engrossed in her meal.  
“Goodness, don’t tell me you’re one of those writers who’s overly precious about their work? Unwilling to share it until it’s perfect.”  
“Not at all. I just...” She smiles a crooked smile and peers into her dinner companion’s eyes. “It’s a collection of short stories, but the key stone, the central story is... it’s incomplete. And no matter what I write, I can’t finish it.”  
“Why?”  
“Why? I don’t know. I’m trying to hard? I’m not trying hard enough? I don’t know my story well enough, I know my story too well... It’s just...there. Draft after draft after draft and it’s...” She gives up trying to explain and shrugs her shoulders. “I shouldn’t complain, I mean, you put out a work of art monthly.”  
“Some months are more worthy of that term than others,” Miranda sniffs, her mind going back to all the faults of last month’s issue. “Some unsolicited advice? Publish or perish. At some point, you have to accept the imperfections -”  
“But not if I know it’s not my best effort. The best I can do. That’s one thing I miss about you. Coffee or content, you demanded everyone deliver the best they could at all times.”  
“I have a feeling Andrea, you are either too young or stubborn to understand what I’m imparting upon you. We will continue this discussion at a later time. That said, I would be curious to glance what you’ve generated so far.”  
“Really? Miranda, you’re the busiest person outside of the President -”  
“Hyperbole, he’s not nearly as busy as I am. But I did mean it, otherwise I wouldn’t have said it.” She raises an elegantly arched eyebrow to indicate that it’s over.

A quiet lull settles on the table, and Miranda takes a moment to take in her companion. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a disheveled but elegant bun. A smudge of pink lipstick and a swath of mascara seem to be her only enhancements, but there is something so... captivating about her. It’s not her youth, because that’s blush has faded, but an earnestness, a quality of genuine curiosity and a seed of talent. A sense of compassion that hasn’t been eroded away by New York, by Journalism, by Life and it’s hardships. There is something so foreign, so forgotten yet so familiar about Andrea. It’s startling, like the recognition of a landscape only seen in pictures…. She’s pulled out of her thoughts by her name.   
“Miranda?” Andrea repeats, “You’re staring.”  
“Am I? I apologize.” But she does not explain, because in part, she’s Miranda Priestly, and in part because she doesn’t know how. What would she say to this young woman before her, who seemingly overnight has appeared back into her life? She can’t help but look at her companion as if she was the most fascinating thing on Earth, which she knows for a fact couldn’t be true. She’s traveled the world and at any other time could list 7291 other things more fascinating and captivating than Andrea Sachs, and yet, at this exact moment she couldn’t think of a single thing and that terrified her. 

She could feel her stomach drop. 

She could feel the blood rushing away from her face and hands and she could feel everything fade out except for the realization that she was starting to feel attached to the young woman across the table from her who had paused talking and was looking at her... “Miranda? Are you alright?”  
“Yes, you were saying?”  
“I was asking if you were alright... You went really pale all of a sudden.”  
“Yes, I’m fine, tired I suppose. It was a long week.”  
“Right...” While the look on Andrea’s face seems to question her, she doesn’t press the issue, instead finishing her wine as Miranda signs the bill for dinner. They look at one another, it’s obvious something has shifted in the air between them. She can feel the nervous energy that is emanating from Miranda. She has never seen Miranda nervous before, and while the other woman is doing a very good job of hiding it, she felt the change instantly. 

“Well...” Andy says, breaking the silence between them, “Let’s get you home.” She cringes immediately, but it seems Miranda didn’t notice. Instead, Miranda rises, a waiter helping her glide back in her chair. The efforts she commanded in others never ceased to amuse and make Andy smile. The smile softens as she feels the older woman’s hand hover over the small of her back as though to guide her, nearly, but never actually touching her as they navigate out of the main dining room. It’s as if she can feel the same nervous energy shaking the space between Miranda’s hand and her back.

They drift out onto the sidewalk, the brisk night air chilling Andy back to attention as she see’s Miranda’s car make it’s way down the block. It’s now or never. “You said ‘set up’ inside, what did you mean by that?”  
“Did I? I forget.”  
“You’ve never forgotten anything in your life Miranda.” Andy comments, watching Miranda’s driver (no longer Roy) get out to open the door.  
“Perhaps the girls want us to get along, to be friends? Which is silly.”  
“Is it?” Andy asks, trying to hide the hurt from her voice.   
“I’m old enough to be your mother.”  
“And the girls are young enough to be my daughters. What does that have to do with friendship?” For a moment, Andrea contemplates her next move then steels herself with a smile and a shake of her shoulders. “Thank you for a wonderful evening Miranda. And thank you for spending your evening with me.” They say goodnight quickly and awkwardly on the street. Andy is so engrossed in her thoughts as she walks away that she doesn’t feel Miranda’s eyes watch her from her still standing car.

* * *

Caroline arrives at Andy’s apartment five minutes early the next morning, coffee for two and article in hand. They say nothing of last night, choosing to get down to work instead, Andy reading over Caroline’s article and marking up the draft in red pen while the younger woman wanders and pace around the apartment before flopping down on the couch. Andy’s so immersed in her edits, that she doesn’t notice her phone vibrate with a text message. Caroline, all nervous energy can’t say the same, her eyes drifting to the device face up on the table beside her. “Hey Andy?”  
“Mmmmm?”  
“How did last night go? You know, with my mother.”  
“Fine?” Andy flips to the last page, uncertain of how to answer.  
“That’s it?”  
“Do you want me to finish this or...?” The pseudo threat hangs in the air.  
“No no, carry on.” The sound of pen on paper and street traffic drifting up is the only sound for the last few minutes until Andy puts down the pen and removes her glasses.  
“Pretty good. I have some questions, all in the margins, but I think you can make some edits, clarify it, condense it and turn it in to Bill for review.”  
“Really?”  
“Really. I mean, I can’t promise, but it’s really good and you should be proud! Your mom made a joke about me turning it in myself. Maybe she was on to something.” Andy teases as she hands the papers back to Caroline.   
“So it went well? Dinner?”  
“Define well?” Andy gets up quickly and begins clearing the empty coffee cups and breakfast plates.   
“Like, you both had a good time, right? Nobody died, or got stabbed with a salad fork?” Caroline asks, trailing behind. “You like her, right?”  
“Yeah, I like her, she’s way nicer as a friend than a boss.” Andy jokes. “I don’t think she’d say the same for me, but what can you do?” Andy shrugs, washing the dishes.  
“Why do you say that? You said it went well.”  
“What was the deal with last night?” Andy changes the topic.  
“I mean, mom is…mom. And she doesn’t have a lot of friends and you don’t have a lot of friends -”  
“Hey!”  
“And you seemed to like her and she doesn’t seem to hate you so…”  
“So you set up a playdate?” Andy teases, drying her hands on the dish towel. “Listen, I get it, it’s super sweet. And I really like your mom. But don’t you think she’s old enough to decide who she wants to be friends with? I mean, she has a lot of options. A lot. She’s really smart, and really funny, and really pretty and really -”  
“Yeah, but everyone wants something from her and you’re just…Andy with her. Seriously, have you heard yourself, you don’t like, kiss her ass, which is a foreign and fascinating sight.” Caroline teases. “Mom’s smart, but she’s also a little dim. I present her romantic history as exhibit A, B, and C. Just…if you like her as a friend, that would be cool, because she doesn’t have a lot of those. Anyways,” She changes the subject, the idea of her friend being he mom’s friend too weird to dwell on too long. “Thanks for the help.” Caroline makes her way to the door, leaving Andy to scramble behind. “Did you want to see another draft or -”  
“No, submit it after the edits. I don’t want to take too much of ‘you’ out of your article.” They’re at the door when Andy manages to ask, “But what did you mean about ‘sorry’?”  
“Nothing, just...Bye!” And with that, Caroline flounced out of the Andy’s apartment, eager to go home and redraft her article. 

Andy meanwhile was left alone. With all these thoughts about Miranda. And possibly being friends with Miranda, which would be cool. Except (and this is where things started getting scary for Andy) maybe in her adoration of how smart Miranda was, and how funny, and how beautiful and how many millions of things the lights started turning on one by one until she could see the facts… She could see she was starting to fall for Miranda Priestly. Oh God. OhGodOhGodOhGod. She needed to breathe. She needed to sit. She needed to stop everything and sit and breathe. 

So she did. Andy sat herself down where she stood, on the floor of her hallway.

This was crazy. It was literally certifiable. Was she sure it wasn’t just infatuation, or a crush, or idolatry? A side-effect of being overworked and under-sexed? It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. Because no matter the cause, the effect was obvious, she liked Miranda. She liked liked Miranda. The middle-aged, straight, stunning, more-power-in-her-hair-than-Andy-would-ever-possess Miranda Priestly. Mother to her friends, icon to the world Miranda Priestly.

She needed Doug. 

She searched frantically for her phone, she needed Doug now. She needed someone who could help breakdown each and every moment of... She had two missed messages.  
M. Priestly: I apologize for how abruptly last night ended.   
C. Priestly: 1) My mother doesn’t say sorry; 2) You may want to turn off message preview on your phone ;) 

Yup, she was going to need some serious help from Doug.


	7. You Hear What I Said, Miss Kubelik?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two classic films mentioned in this, one is Billy Wilder's 'The Apartment' which is basically one the greatest films ever written/produced. The other is Sweet Charity. I assure you, I've written nor own the rights to either of those either :) I hope this doesn't disappoint

Andy takes a deep breath and hangs up the phone. She sets it face down on her desk and takes a step away from it, as though it could blow up any moment. Which, given what she just did, it may.

She had spent the last 2 hours practicing exactly what and how she was going to ask Miranda on a ‘non-date’. It had been carefully plotted by her and Doug (and a couple of bottles of Merlot). Now that Doug wasn’t at her side and the Merlot was out of her system, it seemed like less of a good idea. 

She hadn’t seen Miranda since dinner at Eleven Madison last Friday. And while she had gone years without seeing the other woman, suddenly, even a week was a challenge. She had eventually responded to Miranda’s text, and slowly they began textual correspondence, exchanging brief messages once or twice a day, often something inane and designed to hopefully make the other laugh (or at least smile). Andy’s call deviated from their established pattern however. This was part of Doug’s plan. Call her. Ask to see her. Make their meeting deliberate. All of their previous meetings were coincidental, or happenstance. Let this one be purposeful. Let Miranda decide to see her or not, before either of them read too much into their…friendship. 

Her phone buzzed and Andy circled her desk briefly before turning it over and reading Miranda’s message, a curt ‘I believe I’m otherwise engaged’. Well, at least it wasn’t a no, right? Miranda had no problem whatsoever with saying ‘no’... and she hadn’t. The woman who claimed to be busier than the President had listened to the voicemail and responded within moments. So... that was something, right? She quickly redialed Miranda’s number, fully expecting it to go into voicemail after the first ring. She was caught off guard by “Miranda Priestly speaking.”  
“Oh, Hi. Is that how you answer your phone?”  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was a spot check on telephone etiquette. I’ll answer with a more informal ‘yo’ next time.”  
“I dare you,” Andy teased, smiling at hearing Miranda’s voice. “I’m sure you’re busy. I just wanted to let you know I’ll...save you half my blanket... Just in case.”  
“That’s...” The other woman’s voice softened slightly, “A very charming offer. I will keep that in mind should my plans change.”  
“Please do. Keep it in mind. 8p tomorrow. Cedar Hill.” And with that Andy hung up. Her phone buzzing with a text a quick moment later.

M. Priestly: No goodbye? And you complain about my phone manners.

Miranda took a deep breath in her office crosstown as she sent her text. She was now exactly 3 minutes late to meet with the Art Department. Good. Let them cower. When she saw Andrea’s name appear on her phone’s screen a second time, she was unexpectedly compelled to pick up. She had spent the past week going back and forth on the Andrea matter. She knew it wasn’t real. It could be a variety of things except for real. She was, for all intents and purposes, a straight woman past the middle of middle aged. She had two daughters, three marriages, and no desire to complicate her life with a 30 year old writer who could charm the birds off the trees like a real life Disney Princess. So why did her heart flutter just a little every time she saw the other woman’s name on her phone screen? Why did she pick up the phone? And why was she tempted to cancel her dinner meeting tomorrow night to share a blanket in the park with Andrea Sachs?

* * *

Andy took one last look around the crowds in hopes of spotting Miranda’s signature coif. When she couldn’t find it, she sighed and settled down on the blanket spread out on edge on the east side of the Park. 

Summer in New York was one of her favorite times of the year. Yes, it was hot and sticky and smelled of garbage, but it was also a time where the city crowds thinned out. Tourists and the elite alike, unaccustomed or unwilling to endure the heat seemed to stick to their designated areas, leaving the natives to enjoy the bounty that was New York at night. Bars and restaurants spilled out onto the streets, people walked instead of cabbing or subway-ing it and the parks and museums were awash with events and exhibitions and movies. Everyone seemed to be so much more...alive on summer nights. Every Friday this year they were screening ‘New York Classics’ in the park, as soon as she read the description of tonight’s film, she had a suspicion it was the perfect thing to invite Miranda to. It wasn’t something as formal as dinner, which would force conversation (something she guessed Miranda was avoiding as much as she was, given how their last...meeting ended), and it wasn’t too obvious. It was subtle, and dare she hope it, romantic (Did she even want it to be romantic?). At the very least, she herself would enjoy it, a throwback to childhood, of wide open lawns and nights under the stars with friends and family.

Among the invaluable advice Doug had given her was to ‘go with it’, whatever the ‘it’ turned out to be. It wasn’t that Miranda was a woman that terrified her. It was that Miranda was...well, she was Miranda. She was the woman who made her life a living hell for a year. She was also the woman who gave her an incredible reference, made her smile, made her curious, made her excited. She blushed thinking of Miranda slipping the makeshift apron around her waist. Miranda challenged her, but didn’t talk down to her. Miranda was amazing, incredible, beautiful, brilliant and ... calling her. “Hello?”  
“How do I find you in this throng?”  
“I would hardly call this a throng, Miranda.” Andy replied, standing up and waving over to the other woman who stood on the edge of the concrete. Andy watched as Miranda placed her first hesitant step onto the lawn, then picked her way through blankets, careful not to impale anyone or anything on her heels. “Are you enjoying the view, Andrea?” Miranda asks into the phone, her voice lilting into a tease.  
“I...will see you in a moment.” Andy quickly hung up and dropped back to the blanket, quickly dusting off the other half, fixing her shirt, running a finger across her teeth in case lipstick smeared and took a deep breath. If she didn’t know better, she’d say Miranda Priestly had flirted with her.

“Hello.”  
“Ah, hi, Miranda.” Andrea stammered, blushing as she offered her hand up to help the other woman down onto the blanket. “I’m...glad you came.”  
“Well, the thought of you, all alone... I couldn’t leave you to your own devices.” She playfully huffed as she removed her navy pumps and wiggled her toes in the air. They were surprisingly and delightfully painted clear. “Besides, it’s been too long since I’ve seen this film. It’s one of my favorites.” She tucked her legs off to one side, and Andrea had to look up and around to avoid going red at seeing how high the navy skirt rose on the other woman’s thighs. “Really? It’s ah, one of mine too.” Andy managed to stammer. Now that she was actually here, with Miranda, she had...no idea what to do or say. “If I, um, thought you were actually going to show up, I’d have brought some chairs or something.” She apologized.  
“Like those atrocious things?” Miranda nods towards some lawn chairs set up here and there across the hill. “I would’ve walked away if you had. There’s something... I haven’t sat on a blanket on the grass in a very long time.” She doesn’t exactly smile, but her voice softens as she looks around. The spot chosen by Andrea was at the crest of the hill, on the outskirts of the audience, shaded by a tree. “Tell me, did you set up here...”  
“I...know you’re not a fan of crowds. And it makes for an easy exit.” Andy shrugged. “That said, you did show up, which means...” She pulls out a large bag of sour patch kids from her bag, along with two cold bottles of sparkling water. “You can help me with the snacks!”  
“Andrea, your dietary habits are that of a four year old.”  
“Shhhhhhhh Miranda!” Andy teased, raising a finger to her lips as the credits start to roll. “The movie’s about to begin!”  
“Well then...” Miranda settles back against the tree, taking a sip of her water as she watches the black and white shots of New York. “On November 1st, 1959, the population of New York City was 8,042,783.” Jack Lemmon narrates earnestly. “If you laid all these people end to end, figuring an average height of five feet six and a half inches, they would reach from Times Square to the outskirts of Karachi, Pakistan.” Andy flips over to her stomach and wiggles to get comfortable, laying down beside the seated Miranda, her head on an outstretched arm. “Andrea, are you always this disruptive during films?”  
“Just getting comfortable is all...” She looks back and sticks her tongue out.   
“I was correct, like a four year old.”

Someone ahead “Shhhhhhhhhhhhes” them.

“See, your disruptive nature is getting us into trouble.” Miranda mutters, her eyes boring straight ahead to the screen. It has been a very long time since she was shhhhhhed. It has also been a very long time since she’d seen this movie. Or sat on the grass. It had also been a very long time since she questioned what it was that she was doing. Because what was she doing here, on a Friday night, with a woman half her age, surrounded by the plebeians of New York who didn’t know the difference between Edith Head and Ethel Mertz. 

But here she was, none-the-less, questioning her sanity. And, as she gazed down, watching the prone frame of the other woman, illuminated by the large screen in the dark night, her heterosexuality. What would it be like, she wondered, to take that outstretched hand in her own? Or...She moved her eyes back up to the screen, willing her mind to move on. Andrea was a lovely girl, but she was exactly that, a girl (comparatively). Beautiful and young and providing no signs of looking for anything other than ... friendship. She would have to correct that expectation after tonight though. To be friends with Miranda was to be asking to be disappointed, let down, pushed aside and occasionally ignored. In fact, being friends with Miranda Priestly was almost like being married to her. Except without the exchange of expensive jewelry.   
“The mirror...it’s broken.” Jack points out to Shirley.  
“Yes, I know. I like it that way. Makes me look the way I feel.”  
Suddenly, but not-so-suddenly, Miranda feels the same way. Broken. But only just a little bit. She feels emptier than when she came to the park. She feels emptier than when she saw Andrea stand and wave at her and smile so widely Miranda was certain the fool girl’s cheeks would hurt the next day. At that moment, she had felt...full. As if Andrea’s joy and surprise at seeing her spilled out and over. When was the last time someone had looked at her like that. With such adoration? Such genuine feeling? She peeks down and is surprised to see her hand tangled in the other woman’s dark locks. She watches as she runs her hands through lightly and wonders how long she had done that. How had that even began and why was Andrea allowing it? Embarrassed, Miranda stills her hand and pulls it slowly onto her lap. She hopes no one noticed. She hopes Andrea didn’t notice. She looks away, feeling foolish, willing away the redness she’s certain is spreading across her cheeks. What had gotten into her? A disgruntled murmur pulls her from her thoughts. Andrea has flung her hand back and is wordlessly indicating for Miranda to continue. “S’nice.” She murmurs, not bothering to look back at the older woman. “Andrea, your elbow’s in my way.” She whispers, haughty.  
“Then go back to playing with my hair. It was nice.”  
“Is that the only way I’m to have peace?” Miranda huffs, her hand already out, hovering near the other woman’s hair. She takes a deep breath and plunges it into the dark locks. It’s cool and silky beneath her fingertips. She decides to ignore the warmth spreading through her belly, the redness spreading across her cheeks and her décolletage. She cannot ignore the sigh of satisfaction that arises from the other woman. 

She spends more time watching and contemplating the younger woman instead of the film she had seen countless times. What about the younger woman intrigues her? By all means, she should find her... not contemptible, no, but certainly not worth a Friday night, let alone the other times she’s spent with her. She shouldn’t find her company so desirable, but she does. There’s something infectious about Andrea. The naivety from all those years ago is gone, but there’s a certain, dare she say, sweetness to her? An honest interest about others as people instead of tools to be used to create something. Instead Andrea finds people endlessly fascinating, with a gaze that’s...focused on her directly as she is right now. Andrea has turned around, lying flat on her back, looking up directly at Miranda, a smile spread across her face. “The film is that way Andrea.” She indicates towards the screen, wrenching her eyes away from the other woman’s face and towards Shirley McClain leaving the party in search of Jack Lemmon. “I know, but this is a much better view.”  
“I won’t miss the end of the film Ms. Sachs.”  
“I wouldn’t hear of it, Ms. Priestly”

She doesn’t need to look down to know Andrea is still looking at her. She can feel the the other woman’s...happiness...all but radiating off of her. Happy over what though? Her thoughts are interrupted as Jack Lemmon confesses “I love you, Miss Kubelik. Did you hear what I said, Miss Kubelik? I absolutely adore you.” And she can’t help but smile a grin as big as Shirley McClaine’s as she tells him to “Shut up and deal.” The credit music swells and there’s a smattering of clapping as everyone slowly emerges from the fog of watching the film, of holding their breath in hopes of Shirley McClaine’s Ms. Kubelik realizes what we’ve known all along, that Jack Lemmon’s Bud Baxter was in love with her this whole time.   
‘You’re smiling.” Andrea accuses her as she finally sits up.  
“I am not. You’re simply seeing things.” Miranda replies, trying to school her features back into submission.  
“You, Miranda, are smiling. It’s ok.” She whispers as she stands up and offers the other woman a hand to ease her up. “I won’t tell anyone.” Miranda slip her hand into Andrea and as she gently tugs up, wonders how true that is.

Miranda watches her pack everything back up into her tote bag and while she know a cab would be quicker, she turns towards the pavement path. “It’s such a beautiful evening Andrea, I think I’ll walk.” She don’t ask Andrea to walk with her. She hope she will though. She isn’t ready for this night to be over, because as soon as it is, Miranda will have to ask herself some questions. So together they walk slowly and leisurely in the park, like so many couples they see arm in arm around them. What would it be like? To be young again? To be in love again? To be arm in arm with the woman by your side? Young people today didn’t question things like this now, and while she didn’t want to consider the fact that she’s old, she knows she is of a certain generation, one who’s - “Miranda?”  
“Yes?” She snap back to the present.   
“Did I ever tell you about what I wanted to be when I was growing up?”  
“I always assumed it was some intrepid explorer or lion tamer?”  
“Not quite.” She laughs and nudges the other woman with her shoulder... and suddenly her arm is much closer to Miranda’s than before. “I had just seen the movie Sweet Charity. I knew every word to that movie, including all the songs. I just wanted to be Shirley McClain in that.” She doesn’t move her arm away.  
“A prostitute?”  
“I believe she was a dancer.”   
“Oh, was that what they called it back then?” Miranda smirks  
“That’s better.” Andy takes a peek to the woman at her left then back to the sidewalk, “You were looking serious again.”  
“What do you mean again?” Miranda asks, her head cocking to one side.  
“Back there... You were thinking of something too serious for a night this nice. You were, watching but you weren’t seeing, if that makes sense?”  
“I used to watch this move every year at Christmas.” She lingers.  
“Was that what you were thinking about?”  
“Every time the girls went to visit their father…It appears we’ve arrived.”   
“Where?” Andy looks around confused, then realization dawns on her. “Oh. Your home.”  
“My home. Thank you for walking me.” Miranda makes no motion to climb the stairs, nor does Andrea make to leave. “You really didn’t have to.”  
“You’re welcome. I...” She sighs and smiles, as if steeling herself. “I just wasn’t ready for this night to be over.”  
“No?”  
“No.” Andrea confesses. “Miranda...”  
“Andrea.” She teases, echoing back the seriousness of the other woman’s tone. It had been a while since anyone was nervous around her. At least in this capacity. Everyone was terrified of Miranda Priestly in a professional sense, but in the personal sense? It was endearing. And while she should stop it, both her unexplainable feelings for the other woman and the other woman’s suffering, she wasn’t particularly ready for tonight to be over either. She reaches out a hand towards Andrea’s face and notices her stop breathing as she carefully plucks a piece of grass from her hair and drops it on the sidewalk.   
“I was saving that for later.” Andrea whispers.  
“I do not doubt it.” Miranda smirks. They stand there for a moment, surrounded by the city and it’s noise and it’s indifference to these two women beneath a tree. Each of them breathing softly, looking in each other’s eyes, almost daring the other to make the first move. “It’s a nice face.” Andy whispers.   
“Hmmmm?”  
“As faces go. It’s a very nice face.” Andy continues, not quite singing, not quite speaking, as she smiles shyly at the other woman. “With a place for every feature, every feature in its place”.   
“Oh, I see.” Miranda smiles back softly. She tells herself she can afford a moment of selfish and childish indulgence. Of basking in the other woman’s attention. It’s just a moment after all. She doesn’t know what it is about this…seemingly plain woman (who is anything but) that makes her wonder what it would be like to stay like this forever. But nothing stays forever. Not a thing or a person. In the end, she’s a silly old woman with a silly little girl. “What are we doing Andrea?”  
“I…I don’t know Miranda.” Andy smiles, “I just know…”  
“What do you know?”  
“That I’d very much like to kiss you.”

The moment passes. 

The words pull Miranda from her hazy state that the warm evening has put her in. She takes an abrupt step back and quickly climbs the stairs to her townhouse, where she pauses at the top and dismisses her with a curt, “Thank you Andrea. Please get home safely.” 

It takes a few seconds for Andy to process what’s going on in her mind. To wonder how she went from standing inches away from Miranda's warmth to being…dismissed… without so much as a look. Even at her cruelest, Miranda would look at you to ensure her barbs landed. Andy climbs the stairs determined, she isn’t sure what she’s determined to do, but she knows this feeling, it’s familiar, sinking to the feeling when she left Paris. She’d been lucky enough to meet Miranda once more, on more even footing and she isn't about to lose this, whatever this this may be. The door opens before she can knock, and there’s Miranda, a look of exasperation on her face. “Collecting for the Evening Star are we?”  
“Miranda…” Andy blurts out, “Miranda, may I kiss you?”  
“...” There are no words. It’s been a very long time since anyone’s asked to kiss her (has anyone asked to kiss her?). Miranda feels Andrea place a gentle hold on her hip and lean forward and brushes her lips across the other woman’s. It’s her first time kissing another woman. She’s not entirely appalled. She’s not even surprised, not really. It was, in fact, quite restful? No, not restful… her mind races to find the right word and as such doesn't see the second kiss coming, but she can feel it. It’s as if every nerve in her body begins to vibrate as one. Andrea has pressed their lips together and suddenly she can only thing about how she's being kissed like she hasn’t been kissed in years. She can only think about the thrill of Andrea, of this beautiful creature, unafraid of anything, of storming up these stairs and politely and passionately kissing her. How is one even politely passionate? She pulls the other woman inside and closes the door, suddenly trapped between the wall and the warmth of the young woman’s body. As she feels Andrea’s hands pull her closer, as she hears Andrea moan softly into her skin, she thinks to herself that this needs to stop. She tries to get the words out, but can’t. Especially as Andrea’s mouth moves down her jaw and along her neck. All she can do is arch her back and allow the other woman more access to her, to anything and everything she wants at this moment.

‘This is how I wants to die,’ Andrea thinks to herself, the thoughts half-formed in the haze caused by the other woman’s presence, ‘I want to die pressed against Miranda Priestly’. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, not exactly, but so far, there have been no complaints. Finally, the need to come up for air arises and their lips and their bodies separate. “Oh Andrea,” Miranda sighs, as she unwraps her arms from the other woman and steps away from the wall and into the darkness of the hall “This does complicate matters, doesn’t it?”  
“I…seem to be really good at complicating things.” She leans against wall Miranda had just been pressed against and looks off into the darkness of the hall. “I mean, you’re Miranda Priestly. Oh god, what did I do? I ruined it didn’t I?”  
“Ruined what?”  
“I don’t know. It. Whatever this was. I ruined it and I’m sorry.”  
“There is no it, Andrea. It’s an infatuation Andrea.” Away from Andrea, away from those arms and whatever drugstore brand shampoo used she can think straight. She can think about how ridiculous, utterly ridiculous they’ve both been. This needs to stop. They need to never think about this…lapse in judgement and in taste. Miranda straightens her blouse and skirt, even though she's in the dark, even though it’s well past time to go to bed.  
“For you, or for me, because Miranda, it’s so much more to me. You’re so much more to me.”  
“Don’t inflate this into something more than it is Andrea. You’re infatuated with me and I allowed myself to be infatuated with you.”  
“No Miranda.”  
“Yes, Andrea. It’s happened before, people get infatuated. I will admit,” Her voice changes slightly, “ This is the first time I allowed it to go this far. You are a charming and talented young woman. Winsome, dare I say. I apologize for letting it proceed to this point. And while it wasn’t unpleasant in the least, it will never happen again.”  
“Please, don’t say that.” Andy asks, directing the plea to the darkened hall. She can make out Miranda’s white hair, her blouse, but she can’t see much more than that. She can’t see Miranda’s face. Her eyes. She can’t see if she really means what she said, but within moments, she finds herself on the doorstep, alone.


	8. Sunday We Brunch

Andrea suspects Miranda is avoiding her.

Which is curious, because their lives don’t allow for much incidental crossover, so avoiding someone you’d likely never see is a moot activity. Never the less, Andrea has the sneaking suspicion she’s being avoided when her texts start to go unanswered and suddenly Caroline avoids mentioning her mother.

Nor does it help that suddenly Page Six and every blog is posting paparazzi shots of Miranda, with some fabulously handsome and wealthy (and likely straight) man on her arm. 

It’s while she’s lamenting these very photos one Friday night, pretending she’s not stewing over them when there’s a knock at the door. She holds her breath as she peeks into the keyhole, having seen more than her fair share of awful romantic comedies, she can’t help but hope that the knock is Miranda, come to apologize, to explain. “Open up Andycakes, I can see your shadow!”   
“Go away Doug. I’m naked.” She shouts through the door, not up for company, not even that of her best friend.  
“I have your emergency keys and a bag of thai food.”  
“You can’t use my keys! I gave them to you in case of an emergency!”  
“This qualifies.” He sighs and jingles the keys. “I also have wine.”  
“You should’ve led with that.” She remarks as she opens the door and helps Doug with his bags. “Not that I’m not grateful, but to what do I owe this ambush to? Don’t you have a date with the mystery man?”  
“He’s at work. And he’s not a mystery. I just don’t…want to jinx it.” He explains as he starts to open their wine.  
“Plates or?” Andy asks, holding up the bag of food.  
“Definitely or. Who are we kidding?”  
“Good call.” They make their way into the living room and take their usual seats.   
“Well, at least I didn’t find you blasting Melissa Etheridge or something. Now, tell Papa Bear everything.”  
“Stereotypes-”  
“Exist for a reason. Don’t change the topic. And don’t eat the last spring roll - I love you but not that much.” He snags the last piece from the carton. “Now, the last I heard, you and La Grande Dame herself found yourselves in the dark, cheek to cheek, and then… nothing. It’s as if my best friend fell off the face of the earth.” He takes a chopstick full of noodles into his mouth before continuing. “If that was because you fell face first into one another’s lady bits-”  
“Doug!” She groans, blushing red.  
“I don’t judge, Dear. I may not understand it, but I don’t judge it. Now, if your absence was because you had found sapphic bliss, that’d have been one thing. But imagine my surprise when I see these photos with Miranda and all these men. One after another. Like an endless parade of them. Suddenly it all makes sense why you’ve fallen off the face of New York.”  
“I have not.” Andy pouts, pushing away her curry and rice. “I’ve just…”  
“Yes…”  
“Miss her.”   
“Oh Andycakes.” He puts down his noodles and opens his arms and finds Andy in them within seconds. “Oh Andy I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”  
“Like hell.” She mutters into his body.  
“Wanna talk about it?”  
“No.”  
“Ok.”

He holds Andy for a while until his arm goes numb and his stomach growls. 

“I should let you go.”  
“No, you should just…” He reaches to his noodles and manages to grab them and proceeds to balance them on Andy’s shoulder as he holds her and begins to eat again. “There we go.”  
“It was just…really…nice.” She mumbles into his chest.  
“Nice?”  
“Being happy.”  
“Oh Andy, you’re breaking my heart.” He sighs, meaning it.   
“I mean, we would talk about everything, and she just… made me feel so special, by being nothing more than herself. And we would…just look at each other. And I swear…” She finally pulls away from Doug, looking into his eyes. “There was something there. That night, that kiss, there was something to it. That entire night Doug, she kept looking at me…”  
“Like?”  
“Like I mattered.”  
“You do matter Andy.”  
“You know what I mean. Don’t you? She kept looking at me like she was trying to figure me out. And then that kiss. It was like…every cliche Doug, about magic and magnetism and lightning. I’m supposed to be a writer, and I have no words other than…”  
“Damn.”  
“Yeah.” Andy laughs dryly, running her hands through her hair.  
“Andybear, may I be honest with you?”  
“When are you not?”  
“I know, I just like to ask to try to give the illusion of manners. Andy, I’m not saying there’s nothing between you and her, and I’m not saying there’s not nothing. I’m just…” He sighed, “You are a beautiful woman Andrea, and smart, and talented. Anyone, man or woman, would be damned lucky to even have a chance with you. It could be George Clooney or it could be Miranda Priestly. You…did a hell of a thing, even asking her out. I’m sorry if this sounds cheesy, you followed your heart and you followed your gut and that’s what makes you you Andycakes. What she chooses to do now is her business. We can’t make people love us Andy, you taught me that. And you can’t put your social life on hold waiting for her to figure it out. So, tonight we wallow. Tomorrow we cleanse, and Sunday we brunch and Monday we go back to work, deal?”  
“Deal, Dougie.”  
“Good, now, no night of wallowing is complete without bad tv…” And with that, he turns on the television. They spend the night watching awful television on some awful channel, laughing at how awful it is and how good the wine is. 

Good to his word, Andy wakes up the following morning to the delivery of a juice cleanse at her door. She can’t help but laugh as she cleans up the debris from last night with Doug, and then continues cleaning, first the living room, then the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, all of which have been left abandoned since…the park. Invigorated and on a roll, Andy even gathers her laundry and her notebook, lugging them both to laundromat around the corner. And there, while her whites and her colours and her darks begin their cycles, she sits down and begins to write.

* * *

‘Well, at least this evening won’t be as insufferable as the last, but that’s not saying much.’ Miranda thinks to herself from across the dinner table, stretching her face into a tight and awkward smile. She could plead out with a headache, but the paparazzi won’t be at her doorstep until 11 tonight (thanks to the anonymous tip she had provided them with earlier in the day), which meant she had to play nice for at least a whole two more hours. 

Two hours with this bore. Beautiful, to be certain, but as dull as this ridiculous ‘normcore' trend one of her writers had tried to pitch. Where did Nigel find these men? And since when did she find good manners and good looks boring? Since Andrea, she answered herself, aware of the borderline lunacy of having an internal conversation with herself over a decision she herself had made and judged as the right and correct path of action. It had to be. It was the only option really. Who was she fooling, it was bad enough when men chased 20-something women, but for her to do it? She may be Miranda Priestly, the woman who could (and had done) anything and everything she wanted, but she certainly didn't want to make a fool out of herself, and that’s what she’d be doing if they continued down that path. With that reminder, Miranda steeled herself and began to at least try to find her dinner companion engaging.

* * *

“Hello?” Andy asks, blindly grabbing at her phone, unwilling to open her eyes. She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s absurdly early. Or absurdly late.  
“It’s quite good, your story.”  
“What time is it? Miranda? ” Andy debates opening her eyes, but she’s really quite comfortable like this, warm in bed, talking to Miranda.  
“Have you removed me from your phone already Andrea?” “Not yet.”  
“Tell me about your story.”  
“There’s not much to tell.”  
“You’re being coy Andrea. Editors hate that. Three weeks ago you were hopelessly stagnant, and now this…rough, but captivating draft appears before me.”  
“I was…never hopelessly stagnant.” Andrea defends herself as Miranda dismisses the comment with a small noise that melts Andy’s heart. 

There’s a brief silence.

“How are you?”   
“A social call, Miranda? At this hour?”  
“Yes well, I’m an incredibly busy woman.”  
“So I’ve seen. Quite popular too.”  
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you Andrea.”  
“And what does suit me Miranda?” Andy asks, finally opening her eyes and pushing herself up into a seated position. She watches the shadows cast by the streetlights along her wall.  
“Confidence.” Miranda responds softly, “You have everything to be confidant about.”  
“Like what?”  
“I’m not in the habit of doling out complements needlessly Andrea, you should do well to remember that if we’re to begin a romantic relationship.”  
“…”   
“If that is agreeable to you. I realize we never spoke about it. I had just assumed that -“  
“Romantic relationship?”  
“Perhaps I misinterpreted the kiss?” Miranda asks, her voice dropping to an icy temperature as she moves to end the call and the humiliation. “I apologize. Good night Andr-“  
“No! You can’t call me up in the middle of the night, complement me on something vague, suggest we start…dating, and then hang up on me! What is going on Miranda?”  
“You seemed to sum it up quite nicely.”  
“It doesn’t mean I understand it. One minute, I am kissing and being kissed by one of the most brilliant, beautiful and beguiling women in the world, the next I’m being kicked out and ignored while she flaunts that she’s out every night with another hot guy -“  
“I wasn’t flaunting-”  
“I’ve made your schedule Miranda, unless things have changed drastically, you do not go out every night with the paparazzi hounding you unless you deem it so.”   
“I will not defend my actions.”  
“I’m not asking you to. I am asking you to explain them to me.”  
“Andrea.”  
“Miranda.”   
“I…have been more social as of late. Ever since-”  
“That night-”  
“That kiss.” Miranda corrects, “I could, ignore whatever I felt for you until that kiss Andrea.”  
“And what did you feel for me?”  
“Attraction. Protection. Curiosity. Envy. It occurs to me that you’re asking all the questions. You know how I feel about that.”  
“You could ask some too if you want, instead of making these sweeping declarations.”  
“I refuse to do this over the phone Andrea. I am not some silly schoolgirl talking to her crush.”  
“Then come over and talk about it in person.” Andrea sighs. Within seconds there’s a click of a disconnected line. “Miranda? Hello?” 

Andy isn’t sure how much time has passed, she just knows one minute she’s asleep and dreaming of Miranda calling and the next there’s a loud rapping at the door.

“Andrea, open up. Open up at this minute Andrea, so help me.”

Andy flings back the covers and runs to the door, opening it and then blinking in the bright hall lights. “Miranda?”  
“Well aren’t you going to invite me in?” The other woman asks as she moves past Andy and makes her way to the darkened living room.   
“What are you doing here?” Andy asks, flipping the light switch on. She watches as Miranda turns around, looking lost and standing out amongst her belongings.   
“You had questions, and I refuse to talk about about it over the phone. So here I am.” Miranda makes her way to Andrea and turns the lights back off. They stand near one another in the darkened room, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights. “Andrea, do you sleep with your make up on?”  
“Ah…”  
“It’s a bad habit.”  
“I’ll remember that. Would you like a seat?” Andrea offers, shrugs, tugging on the long sleeves of her top.  
“No, thank you.”  
“So…what brings you by?” Andy asks softly, taking a step closer to Miranda, just close enough to feel the warmth off the other woman’s body. Her pajamas are thin and she’s starting to feel the chill.  
“I…wanted to see you.”  
“And now that you have?”  
“I want to keep seeing you. Does that make sense to you? Because Andrea,” Miranda moves a hand towards Andrea and tucks a stray lock of disheveled hair behind the other woman’s ear, letting her hand linger against her cheek. “It doesn’t to me. There I was, across the table from a man who is, by all accounts, handsome, intelligent, wealthy and possibly charming and all I could could do was…want see you. And when that man leaned over to kiss me -” She watches the other woman wince at these words. “I felt nothing more than the desire to see you. Andrea, I missed you. What have you done to me?” She sighs. “Well, you had so many questions earlier, where are they now?”  
“You don’t like it when I ask too many questions.”  
“No, I don’t. But you have a habit of doing exactly what I don’t like, so ask away.”  
“I…missed you too.” Andy begins, careful not to get her hopes up, but optimistic.  
“Did you Dear?”  
“Dear?” Andy smiles up, sliding a hand into one of Miranda’s.  
“Dear.” Miranda confirms, unable to smile, looking down at their linked hands.   
“I don’t know why or how you’ve come back into my life, but I…Apparently confessing your emotions to one of the world’s most powerful women isn’t as easy as I hoped. Ok.” She takes a breath and tries again. “I missed you too Miranda. And all I’ve wanted to do was see you. And if that means it’s as friends, that’s fine, but if I’m honest, I want it to be so much more.”  
“Since when?”  
“Since…always? Since the park? I don’t know. Somewhere along the way I realized how incredible you are and how incredible you make me feel and how silly it is that I would miss you. Caroline -” She notices the other woman stiffen before her. “Asked me if I liked you, and that’s when I realized how obvious it was to others, and if they could see it, why couldn’t I? Why couldn’t you? And then there was that night in the park and I didn’t expect you to show up and you did and you were so -” She’s rambling, she knows she is, but Miranda hasn’t let go of her hand yet, hasn’t left yet.  
“Andrea,” The other woman interrupts, “What do see when you see me?”  
“How beautiful you are.”  
“Just that?”  
“I wish I had something more profound, or poetic, but it’s late and I’m tired and I don’t quiet know what to say other than that. You’re - a color field, Miranda. Beautiful and difficult and restful and exciting and so many things. I look at you and I see how beautiful you are inside and out and how intelligent you are. You have a delicious sense of humor and …I don’t know. I just - don’t you feel something, there’s always been something between us, hasn’t there?” She squeezes Miranda’s hand clasped in hers.  
“I am an older woman, some may say an old woman. I don’t know anything about being with a woman -” She’s’ not sure why she came here, she should leave, she tries to let go of Andrea’s hand, because no matter how good it feels to have someone’s hand, Andrea’s hand in hers, she knows it will hurt when it ends. It has to end.  
“Then don’t be with a woman. Be with me, Miranda.” Andy reaches out her free hand, tentatively, towards Miranda’s face and guides the other woman to look at her, focus on her. “Be with me. You can have anyone you want and do anything you want.”  
“Do you truly believe that?”  
“More than anything. Who do you want? What do you want?”

Miranda peers at her across the dark. Here was this earnest, beautiful creature - what could she possibly offer Andrea? Others would be looking to her for prestige, for information, for any number of things - but Andrea had had the opportunity and had asked or demanded nothing. She had simply offered. Was still offering. It would be selfish to take it, when there were so many other, more suitable partners for both of them. 

Well, damn it. And damn them too, those suitable partners. 

Miranda was nothing if not selfish and opportunistic, ready to pounce on any possibility presented in life. And so what if there were better partners for Andrea, for her, they weren’t here now. They didn’t look at her like Andrea looked at her and they didn’t speak to her like Andrea spoke to her. And as for Andrea, she would try to deserve this woman, whatever that meant, whatever it took. 

She opens her arms and Andrea steps forward, and she can feel her body react to the other woman’s. Their curves and hollows seem to fit. Her mind races as it focuses on this thought to block out all the other questions and doubts. They just seemed to fit.

“I suppose there has always been something between us, hasn’t there?”


	9. Advice for Another Day…

“Nigel, I need your opinion.”  
“Well, will wonders never cease?” He teases before taking a sip of his wine. 

He is seated across from his mentor, and to be honest, his frend, at their monthly coffee meeting. They had started doing this since he left to launch Persona Magazine, with both Miranda’s blessing and backing. While he found himself asking more questions than he ever thought possible, it was not often, that she turned to him.

“Play nice. I have stumbled upon a writer. Guileless, and completely unaware. I suspect they’re talented.”  
“You’ve never waffled before.”  
“This is different.”  
“It must be. Where did you find them?”  
“Ah, that’s a story for after your opinion. I’d like you to read a draft they’ve shared with me.”  
“Send it over. I’ll take a look.”  
“I would appreciate it. How is your junior working out?”  
“Marie is…challenging to work with, but she’s almost as good as I was, so I am learning to work with it and her and don’t think I don’t see you smirking behind your cup.”  
“I wouldn’t dare. That said, she is quite good. The good ones usually are a challenge. Remember, you weren’t all roses and sunshine.”  
“Lies and blasphemy.” He remarks. “Now, I have a very serious matter to discuss with you. You had all but taken up residence on Page Six, and then you vanish like a specter in the night and appear before me glowing.”  
“I did not vanish and I am not glowing Nigel. You’re dramatizing.”  
“I have never dramatized a day in my life. Now if you won’t tell me, that’s one thing, but will you at least let me say that it suits you?”  
“You may. Now, what about you? I have heard murmurs…” Miranda’s phone begins to ring.  
“Of which every one of them true.” Nigel’s phone begins to ring as well.

They look at each other and realize this cannot be good.

* * *

“Make it quick Six - I have a deadline.”  
“Persona’s offices, are you guys still in the Elias Clark’s building?”  
“Yes. Why? Hang on -” Nigel’s hand covers the mouthpiece of the phone, “I need everything on file for him and I need them in the next five minutes.” He removes his hand. “What’s up?”  
“I ah… Can’t tell you. Not yet. But any chance you can wrangle me a guest pass at 8p?”  
“No.” He covers the mouthpiece once more “Audrey - you’re down to two minutes because you’re flirting!” He returns to his phone. “You just can’t get good help these days, Six. I can’t get you a guest pass - we have to have everything ready to print in the morning. Meet Estelle in the lobby at eight and she’ll sign you in. You aren’t going to make me regret this, are you?”  
“Is that why you’re having your assistant sign me in, Nigel?” Andy teases, thankful for the help.  
“Self preservation is the reason I’ve made it this far, Six. We’ll brunch soon?” And with that, Nigel hangs up the phone without waiting for a response.

* * *

There’s a strange sense of a dream, at least that’s what it feels like to Andy, stepping off the elevators to the entry of Runway. It’s the same, but not. The carpet, the furniture, the painting have all changed, but they all look the same as her tenure there. 

It’s an unusual hive of activity for 8p, gliding about, quickly, because it wouldn’t do to run, even with this tight deadline. Everyone’s so focused on their task at hand that no one notices one more woman walking down the hall. She makes her way and finds herself in front of Miranda’s office, thankful that both assistants are away on some task or another. She takes a moment to look, really look at Miranda at her desk, an opportunity she didn’t often have as her second assistant. Her head is down, a red pen in her hand, with all of New York’s lights spread out behind her. Everything is so still, every colour so vibrant, it’s like a Hopper painting come to life. Andy can’t help how her heart stops for a beat, for altogether different reasons now. “Are you going to stand there all night Andrea?” Miranda asks, her head still down.  
“Is that an option?” Andy asks, teasing. “May I come in for a moment?”  
“Mmmmm.” Is the only response she gets, losing Miranda back to the papers on her desk. She steps into the office and places the box she’s holding to on the low coffee table by the couch.  
“Andrea?” Miranda raises her head and removes her glasses and holds out her arm. “Hello.”  
“Hello.” Andy bends over and places a hesitant kiss on the other woman’s cheek, relishing in it’s warmth. “I didn’t want to bother you, but I figured you’d be focused on your work, so…”  
“I apologize for canceling dinner.” She holds out her hand to Andrea, who gently takes it. “Our first…”  
“It’s ok - a story like this. You were friends, weren’t you?”  
“As close as someone in our roles can be, yes. I still remember his first show while I was an assistant at Vogue.”  
“Tell me about it?”  
“I…It was in London, Fall collection, 1982? 1983? Layers, so many layers. Everyone looking like a street urchin, but…the fabrics, the skill in construction was incredible. Every stitch was…” Miranda sighs, gesturing at the pages spread across her desk. “Anyways. We have until dawn to get get this retrospective done in time for the printing.”  
“And you’ve been going at it since the news broke-”  
“Before the news broke.” Miranda corrects.  
“And you haven’t eaten since?” Andrea steps away and begins to set up a proper plate and cutlery before plating some salmon and greens from the box she’s brought in.  
“Andrea, you shouldn’t have.” Her mouth forms into something close to a smile.  
“Well, I did. Sometimes you’re entirely too predictable.” She shrugs.  
“Miranda, the proofs for Paul’s story -” A slim man appears at the door but doesn’t step in, curious about what he may intrude upon.  
“Your engraved invitation to enter must be lost, but still, do come in.” Miranda snaps, as she rises and moves towards the coffee table. She snatches it from his hand and all but smiles as he scurries away.  
“Do you - did you always smile behind our backs when you scared us?!” Andy whispers, shocked and amused.  
“One really has to learn to take pleasure in the simple things in life.” Miranda responds, settling down on the couch, half-glancing at the papers in her hand. “Aren’t you joining me?”  
“I…already ate. I don’t want to distract you-”  
“My my, we think highly of ourselves, don’t we?”  
“Don’t I have reason to?” Andy smiles. “I should go.”  
“Stay.” Miranda says, “I mean, unless you have something else to do.”  
“Not exactly, after we rescheduled dinner, I planned on trying to make headway on this article that doesn’t want to work.”  
“Stay then. Work here.” She offers, looking up at Andrea, then quickly down at her plate, feigning disinterest.  
“Miranda? I didn’t come here for that. I don’t want to be in your way.”  
“I’d tell you if you were. You are more than welcome to stay here and work, but I don’t want to force you.”  
“What would you tell people?”  
“My staff don’t question me Andrea. Something you’d do well to remember.” Miranda smirks as she takes a bite. “This really was quite thoughtful.”  
“Like I said,” Andrea begins, settling down on the couch and pulling out her laptop. “I know you and you probably haven’t eaten since you heard the news.”  
“I don’t say this often, but you’re right.” Miranda murmurs, already reabsorbed into the proofs she’s spread out on the coffee table.  
“Yes, well get used to saying it more often to me.” Andrea teases.  
“We’ll see.”

* * *

They work together, but apart throughout the night, with Andy camped out, cross-legged on the couch and Miranda back at her desk. No one questions Andrea’s presence there, at least not verbally. 

It’s around one in the morning when Miranda gives up and kicks off her heels, flexing her ankles at her desk. They’re waiting for the Book, complete with mock ups of the new pages dedicated to the death of one of her oldest…she wouldn’t quite call Yves Gogan a friend, not at least the way most people define friendship. But they started together, and in a naive way, she believed they would end their careers together. While he wasn’t always at the height of creativity, losing his way in the late 1990s, he had spent the last four years creating some of the most innovative, clear, and beautiful collections of either of their careers. Along the way, they had lost so many friends, so many lovers, so many - people, to the ravages of disease - she picks up a pen and begins scrawling these thoughts, the beginnings of her updated Editor’s letter - to drugs, to suicide, to alcohol, to accidents. This ugliness is why they work so hard to create these moment and objects of beauty. It may seem silly, trivial to some but this is what this life came down to, creating something out of nothing, giving value and meaning to a world determined to tear it away from them. 

“I can hear you smiling from here, Andrea.” She murmurs, her head still down.  
“I told you I can be distracting…” Andy teases.  
“Mmmm. And what amuses you so much?”  
“Miranda,” One of the assistants appears at the door. “Did you have a chance to finish the editor’s letter?”  
“Not quite. It will have to be improvised - I’ll speak they’ll type.” She rises and stretches, watching Andrea’s smile grow on her face. “We’ll finish this later.” She remarks pointedly, before walking out of the office with her assistant.

* * *

There is something magical about New York at that exact moment where late late night becomes the early, early morning. A cool, stillness in the air, even in the summer months.

Andy yawns as she shivers and wraps her arms around herself. Miranda’s car approaches and her driver, no longer Roy, but someone else opens the door and waits (Andy reminds herself to ask about Roy later, when she’s not so tired). “Are you sure I can’t drop you off?”  
“I’m sure. It’s the opposite direction.” Andy tips her hand out and flags a cab. “Thank you for tonight.”  
“I suppose I should be the one thanking you. It was quite thoughtful of you.” Miranda peers at the other woman. Should they kiss, should they hug? What was proper protocol for a situation such as this?  
“Stop stressing Miranda.” Andrea smiles, leaning over and placing a quick peck on Miranda’s cheek before heading to her waiting cab. “Good night!”

“Where to?” The cabbie asks over the talk radio playing in his stereo.  
“One sec, I just want to make sure…” She watches as Miranda gets into her car and drives off. “Water and John.” She directs, settling back into her seat.  
“You know, in my day…” The cabbie began, flying down Second Ave, empty in pre-dawn hours. “We saw our dates home.”  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”  
“Do, and maybe you won’t be cabbing it alone.” He winks in the rearview mirror, catching her eye.

Andy flings herself back onto the bed, frustrated. It’s been fifteen minutes of tossing and turning. By all accounts, she should have been ready to pass out, the sky tinting grayish blue, but for some reason, she can’t seem to sleep. Too wired, she decides to give herself another fifteen minutes, then she’s getting up and watching whatever awful marathon is on one of those chick channels. Her phone buzzes.

M. Priestly: I can’t recall the last time I was up this late.

Andy smiles and flips over on her stomach, typing her response.

Andy: I believe you mean up this early.  
M. Priestly: Oh, do you now?  
Andy: I do.

The phone rings.

“Well, what are you doing still up?”  
“Oh you know, a night of sin and debauchery.” Andy teases.  
“Is that what you call it?”  
“Why can’t you sleep?”  
“Oh, a night of endless passion by the light of my desk.”  
“I’m jealous.”  
“Good, I like you jealous.”

A silence.

“Come over.”  
“I… Have another idea.”

* * *

The sky is on fire by the time Miranda’s cab pulls up to the pier. Or at least that’s what it seems like to Andy, who’s squinting in the rising sun. “Good Morning.” Andy greets her, holding out a white cup.  
“Well this certainly helps.” Miranda takes the offered cup, “What is the meaning of this?”  
“Coffee? Sunrise?”  
“The location.”  
“Oh…” Andy shrugs as they begin to walk north along the park. “I couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t sleep…Besides, isn’t this what people do after dinner? Go for a walk?” She offers Miranda her arm and blushes as the other woman takes it. “We had dinner… and now we have the walk.”  
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”  
“Not at all.” She smiles to the woman at her side, “I know I’m clever. Besides, I wanted to see you again.”  
“Why didn’t you come over then?”  
“I…don’t think either of us are ready for that.” Andy admits. “I know I’m not. Are you?”  
“No, I suppose not. I didn’t mean the invitation that way. I suppose…I just wanted to see you again. I mean, we were both up.”  
“And now we both get to see the sun rise over Manhattan.”  
“Andrea, your attempts at romance are wasted on me.” Miranda smirks, tightening her grip on Andy’s arm.  
“So you say. Indulge me anyway.”  
“You’re thinking about something. Tell me.”  
“It’s unnerving how you do that.”  
“Well…” Miranda cocks her head to one side. “Perhaps if every thought wasn’t plastered across that little face of yours I wouldn’t be able to. I must say Dear, you should work on that, if for no reason than for professional ones.”  
“I have been getting all sorts of interesting advice today.” Andy teases. “Between you and the cabbie.”  
“And what did this ‘cabbie’ advice you?” Miranda asks, stopping short.  
“You can’t see it on my face?” Andrea navigates them to the railing and looks out across the Hudson.  
“Only one of us finds you amusing Andrea, and it’s certainly not me.”  
“Then why are you here?”  
“Because I was otherwise unengaged and -”  
“I mean, with me in general. Miranda, -”  
“Andrea dear, I am not in the habit of second guessing myself, or my choices. Do you understand what I’m saying?”  
“In a way.”  
“Yes, or no Andrea, no quibbling.”  
“Well I quibble Miranda.”  
“So I am learning. Fine, out with it. What are wondering? Really, what are you wondering, and just spit it out.”  
“You said you could ignore what you felt for me. What is it that you feel?”  
“Andrea, I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing.”  
“Much Ado.”  
“There’s that much lauded American education at play.”  
“And there’s that notorious skill for dodging that which you don’t want to answer.”  
“Touché. If I answer this, will you answer one of my questions?”  
“Yes.”  
“Fine. If you must know what I feel for you Andrea, all I can say is I feel for you.” She raises a hand to pause the inevitable. “I don’t feel for many people. One day you weren’t even a memory, and the next you were, a breeze, standing in my kitchen, doing dishes or some absurd thing. And I remember thinking, as I wrapped the apron around your waist, that I could brush back your lion’s mane of hair and press my lips to the nape of your neck. I could just…hold you and be content. And I never stopped thinking about it. About you, and about me, and about what it would mean about me if I did it, and about what it would mean about you if you let me, and what people would say and people would think and then you kissed me. And I kissed you back. Then you were gone and I missed you. How could I miss you when I barely know you? This is your peculiar little gift Andrea, your insidious way of burrowing into someone’s…life. I didn’t want to miss you, I wanted you beside me. Possessive, yes, but then again, I’m not known for playing well with others.”  
“No Miranda,” Andy places a quick peck on her shoulder, “You are not. Thank you, for that.”  
“Yes, well, please remember self-confidence is an attractive trait Andrea, and you have much to be confidant about. Now, I shall have my turn. After the…kiss, you didn’t call. You didn’t write, or text. Why?”  
“Ah, wow. Fair enough.”  
“I am nothing if not fair. When I want to be.”  
“While kissing you, all I could do was think ‘This is how I wants to die’. It was, incredible, and I had wanted to do that for much longer than I know.”  
“I could tell.”  
“You could not!”  
“I could. Every thought across that beautiful face of yours, remember?”  
“Well, after you showed to me to the door. Kicked me to the curb, so to speak, I didn’t know if that would be the last time I saw you, or touched you. I made it clear how I felt about you and I half wanted to leave the next step to you and half…wanted to keep it perfect and protected.”  
“How unrealistically romantic Andrea.” Miranda says, setting her jaw. “I’ll ask you not to test me again. Life can be cruel, unexpectedly and unintentionally, and so can I. I don’t want to start this off with anything but the truth. I will disappoint you otherwise. Do you understand?”  
“That was never my intention, but yes.”  
“Good. Good.” She turns her back to the river and looks at the woman at her side, and the city at her feet.  
“What a beautiful city.” Andy sighs, matching the other woman’s stance. “You know, I had grown up on all these movies about New York, I still…feel sometimes like this is a giant set. My favorite was ‘Bells Are Ringing’ with the dance at the foot of the bridge? I’m boring you.” Andy states, blushing at noticing Miranda’s discreet yawn.  
“Not at all, I am exhausted. I think today is starting to hit me.”  
“Then let’s get you home.” Once again, she offers her arm to Miranda as they begin to walk back down the pier.  
“I am still curious Andrea, what did that cabbie say to you?”  
“Ah, that is advice for another day…”


	10. The Nearer Your Destination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +1 to whoever gets the reference to The Philadelphia Story; there's also a lot of Paul Simon references and an excerpt from a Margaret Atwood poem and a line from Tolkien. Julia Fullerton-Batten is a real photographer who I've taken the liberty of fictionalizing.
> 
> AN - Sorry for the delay in posting, life has been keeping me busy and these chapters keep growing in depth... If you've made it this far, thank you. Every view or review means more than you (despite my shyness in replying)

  


* * *

  


"You lose something? Say a story entitled 'With the Rich and Mighty'?" The voice on the other end of the line asks.  
"Oh my Gaultier! I thought I lost it!" Nigel exclaims in relief, motioning for his assistant to close the door on her way out. "Where was it?"  
"Mixed in my with papers. That's what happens when you leave your stuff lying about…"  
"Thanks for the lecture Mom!" Nigel teases, tucking into this salad at his desk.  
"Don't ever call me that again." His boyfriend teases on the other end. "I hope it's not secret, Edward Snowden. I read it. It was good. It was…very good. But then again, I'm a numbers man, so what do I know?"  
"Clearly not much if you're with me." Nigel teases. "Are you working late tonight?"  
"I can be convinced otherwise…"

As he talks to his boyfriend about such mundanities as who took the last clean pair of socks and who finished the last of the almond butter, Nigel replies to Miranda's initial email:

ReplyTo: mpriestly  
From: nkippling  
Subject: Re: Read this now.

M -

Loved it. Needs some shaping, but nothing a decent editor can't do (shame we don't know any ;)

If you don't snap this person up, I shall hunt them down and steal them from your very clutches.

N.  


* * *

  
"Miranda, it's Andy…Obviously it's Andy. You have my number. Don't you? Anyways… I just got this email, and it's like, freaking me out and I don't … are you serious with this? This is a mistake, isn't it? Call me."  


* * *

  
It's not often that Miranda Priestly gives in to bouts of self pity or ennui - but sometimes it all becomes too much. Too many people looking at her to guide them, to strengthen them, inspire them and be consumed by them. As her phone kept lighting up, with calls and messages piling on, she wishes she could disappear, even for a day, from everyone and everything right now. From death and life and fashion and people. So many people. She is loathe to admit it to herself, but even her darling Bobbsies.

She closes her suitcase and sighs. Looks like she may get her wish, even if it's just for a little while anyways. She goes downstairs and wordlessly enters the car, watching without seeing as her driver loads the suitcases and bags in the trunk.

She finally returns Andrea's call from the back of her car, stuck in traffic. How there's traffic in between rush hours, she'll never understand - what do these people do with their lives? Shouldn't they be working? Shouldn't they be at home tending to they children, their spouses, their education? Shouldn't they be anywhere but in her damned way? She supposes she should be grateful for the opportunity to call Andrea back before she arrives at the airport.

She looks at her phone, as if willing herself to move her fingers, to call the other woman. Instead, she looks out the window, her forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window. Everything is moving slowly, even her thoughts and feelings. It takes a moment to realize that the phone is ringing. "Yes?" She doesn't bother to look.  
"Hi." The voice on the other end is tentative and full of concern.  
"Andrea."  
"Caroline told me. How are you?"  
"Fine, yourself?"  
"Miranda." The tentativeness is gone, replaced by a mild level of exasperation. She can however still hear the concern. She is taken, for a moment, by the red 'Silvercup Studios' sign. You don't see that type of signage anymore. So ubiquitous when she had first arrived here in New York. How long ago was that? What was that even like? Who was she now compared to that bright, young creature, hand-in-hand with her best friend. "I'm sorry Andrea, I was lost in thought for a moment. What did you say?"  
"Nothing Miranda. I didn't say anything. I just… wanted to see how you were."  
"I don't quite know…how I am." Or how to talk about it, she thinks to herself.  
"Did you want me to come over? I can bring a coffee and you can tell me it's not hot enough."  
"Actually yes." She scoffs at herself. "Unfortunately, I'm on my way to the airport. The girls are already on her way down."  
"Miranda, are you sure?"  
"Am I sure what, Andrea?" She asks, her voice bitter with frost.  
"Nothing. I…I'm sorry."  
"They were both…extraordinarily kind to me. He is…was…the closest thing to a father I had. And Greg, and the girls…" If she allowed herself, she could breakdown crying, sobbing even, not just at Peter's death, or his widow's life without him. She could cry tears for Greg being fatherless, or her children losing their only grandfather. Miranda allowed herself almost every luxury but the luxury of tears, aware of the knowledge that once they began, they could never end, as she could cry for so many reasons, so many people… "Let's talk of something else. You received an email from Leticia?"  
"We can talk about that later…"  
"Actually we can't -" The car begins to speed up, they've cleared the traffic. "I had hoped to brief you in person, I like to meet my new writers before their assignments, mainly to reassure myself they aren't completely incompetent." Her voice clears, grows stronger, more in charge. She can do this. She can be the Devil for a little bit, even if it is with her...Andrea. "Your short story - it had a voice that we don't hear often. It's not just my opinion, but the opinion of others, others I trust and-"  
"What?! Miranda, I shared that in private -"  
"You wanted to be a writer Andrea. It's good. It's very good. I'm not the right editor for it, but I suspect you'll hear from Mr. Curtis' assistant soon."  
"Like, when you say Mr. Curtis?"  
"C. Michael."  
"Oh."  
"Yes. Oh." Miranda picks a spot of invisible lint off her skirt and flicks it to the floor. She had assumed Andrea would be more excited. She showed more enthusiasm over a damn slice of chocolate cake instead of this opportunity.  
"Miranda…I care for you very much, but we need to talk about this."  
"Isn't that what we're doing now?"  
"No, I mean, in person."  
"Well that's not going to be possible for a few days Dear." Her voice takes on an airy lilt. She needs to be the Devil again for a little bit longer. "In the meantime, I have a proposition. A writer's dropped out, some nonsense about rehab or something. We've an interview with Julia Fullerton-Batten set. We've tried to reschedule it, but she'll be in town to do this before she goes off backpacking somewhere remote for months and months. I want this so that it's ready to go to coincide with her new series." She didn't want to talk to Andrea any longer. There were too many emotions rising up, too many thoughts swirling around her mind and she can't share them now, when she's expected to step out in public in just a few moments. She isn't sure she'd ever be able to share them with the other woman. What does a woman Andrea's age know of death? She knows it isn't a fair thought, but then life's not fair, nor is she at times "I've got to go Andrea. We may not get a chance to speak for a few days,"  
"Miranda please -"  
Miranda struggles for a moment but slips her glasses on and takes a breath. "Bye bye Andrea."  


* * *

  
The airport is practically rural and nearly empty, but all she can see is her family. Her daughters with their suitcases at their feet, and Greg, between them. The girls rise, hearing her heels clack on the floor, and greet her with hugs. They step away and watch as their parents embrace, awkwardly. "Miranda, it's good of you…"  
"I'm sorry it's not under better circumstances. Bobbsies, can you find a Starbucks?" She looks at their girls and expertly dismisses them with an errand as Mother and Father watch on. "I am sorry Gregory. How is Susan?"  
"Mother's good. You know her, hearty New England stock and all that. Stephanie's with her now."  
"Is she alright with…me?"  
"You being here? Miranda, you're the girl's mother, and let's be honest, I think my parents like you more than they like me at times."  
"I can't blame them, can you?" She remarks, raising an eyebrow and struggling to keep her lips from curling up.  
"No. Stephanie on the other hand is…nervous. She's heard a lot about you. Please, try to be nice."  
"If the girls are to be believed, she's an improvement over the last one. We'll see what I can do." She spies the girls down the hall, one carrying a tray. "Now," She takes a step back and peers at her ex-husband, "And I mean it, how are you?" He smiles and shrugs. "My father's gone."  
"Yes dear, he is." She smiles sadly and clasps his hand in hers. "But he had a hell of a life before he left."

An hour into the two hour drive to Greg's parent's house the girls are curled up in the back seat, asleep like children. "You keep looking at your phone." He notices. "Do you want to call him?"  
"Him?" Miranda asks, only half paying attention, staring at the last text from Andrea before they lost service in middle of nowhere.  
"The girls said you're dating someone."  
"The girls have very active imaginations."  
"So you're not?"  
"I…don't know what it is we are doing Gregory."  
"Still, sure you don't want to call him?" He asks, "I promise I won't listen in."  
"Drive." Miranda commands.  
"Yes ma'am."

A few minutes pass, maybe five, maybe fifteen - it's hard to mark the passage of time with the flatness of the desert surrounding them and Paul Simon softly playing, when Greg looks at her. "Do you remember the trip we took, what, fifteen, sixteen years ago?"  
"How could I forget? I had to call in for my messages in every road stop between New York and here. I practically had to turn tricks for quarters in... Somewhere in the middle."  
"The girls, they remind me of that trip, knocked out in the back. I miss them when they were that age. I miss you." He looks down and takes her hand in his.  
"Good Lord Greg, this isn't a late-in-life conversion, is it?" She looks at him, he's still handsome, his hair is still thick, but getting lighter and grayer.  
"Well, one of us is a year later-in-life than the other, aren't we?" Greg teases, letting go of her hand. "I found all these photos at the house yesterday, and it made me wonder, do you ever forget the fights and the words and just remember when we liked each other enough to think that getting married was a good idea? Do you remember what it was like to be friends? Because I miss you, I miss my friend 'Randi."  
"Gregory Priestly don't you dare!" Miranda exclaims, half laughing, half horrified. "You swore you would never, ever say that name again!"  
"I not only swore, I had to initial that clause in our divorce papers!" He remarks, shooting her a twinkling smile.  
"I could sue you for breach of contract!" She threatens, shooting him her best glare.  
"I'm not afraid of you 'Randi!"  
"Stop it! Stop it right now! You know how much I hate it!" She practically whines. That name, that name is so far removed from who and what she is now. How many names did she go through? How many versions of herself? Where and when will it stop?  
"How can you hate it? It was who you were! You were my Randi! You were my best friend. You were my…and this is going to sound trite, so please forgive the sentiment, but you were … my everything. You made me feel like I could do anything. That WE could do anything."  
"And we did."  
"And we did. We took on the world and won, so to speak. So what happened to us?"  
"We grew up. As all children must."  
"But why?"  
"If I knew, I'd be a better…everything."  
"You're a great everything Miranda."  
"That's a lie."  
"Yes it is. But you are pretty fantastic at a lot of things. You became an exceptional mother, after a while. You were and still are, undoubtedly one the most shrewd humans I've ever known, you're a phenomenal editor -"  
"But I'm a lousy wife and friend."  
"Well…one more than the other. I'll tell you a secret. Just between us. When Mother called, when I got the call about -" He can't say the words just yet. "The first person I wanted to see wasn't Stephanie (and don't you DARE tell her, otherwise Page Six'll get wind of 'Randi') but you. I wanted to see you. I felt like I was a kid again and all I wanted was for my best friend to tell me it's all going to be alright, and it was a mistake and…" His voice dies as the thoughts end.

They drive for a bit, listening to the familiar songs on the car stereo. Just like the road trip they took as a family fifteen years ago. The one where they started out as a family and ended fractured and alone.

Miranda looks out the window, at the flatness of it all and feels empty. Openness has always this effect on her. So did Paul's voice, always so wistful at the possibilities of what could have been, always so light despite the weight of his words. 'And I know a father who had a son' Paul Simon sings to them, and she doesn't look look at Greg, but wordlessly reaches out and places her hand atop his. It's been so many years. So many tears. But she can't begrudge him this small comfort. 'He longed to tell him all the reasons for the things he'd done, he came a long way just to explain, he kissed his boy as he lay sleeping, then he turned around and he headed home again' "I miss him. And it's not just him…" Greg begins. "I miss…so much. I miss who we were together, and who we were apart and I miss fishing with him and I miss the girls being so young and not being there for their first…well everything."  
"I remember your parents telling me one night after you'd gone to bed" She begins, "That every generation feels like they're the first to ever feel…everything. Anything."  
"It…sounds infuriatingly like them."

Signs of life begin to appear in the distance. They're almost at the Priestly's estate. First other cars, then lights, then buildings. The sun has stained everything orange and red and darkness has begun to creep into the east and casts the shadow over the sprawling, low building at the foot of Mt. Lemmon. They drive up to the garage and Greg turns off the motor of the car and they take a moment and a breath, "So here we are again…" he smiles up at her softly before turning back and gently nudging the girls awake.

It's a flurry of activity from there on out. There's bags to be unloaded, grandparents and ex-in-laws and new wives and old relatives to meet, rooms to be arranged and dinner to help with and so much more. The gathering of family was meant to be more of an Irish wake than a staid funeral, Susan said that's how her husband wanted it. It had been so long that their house was filled with family and friends, it was a shame Peter wasn't around to enjoy it, she admits, shrugging as she leads Miranda to the last of the guest rooms. "Stay," Miranda says, inviting her former mother-in-law to stay with her as she unpacks, as she changes from her travel clothes. "You look like you haven't had a minute to yourself."  
"Should everyone be so lucky to be surrounded by love." Susan admits, opening the patio door and stepping outside, glancing at the stars. "It's…hard though," She begins, her back to Miranda, "To think he won't see these stars again. Thank you, by the way, for sending the girls down last summer."  
"They're women now, Susan. I didn't send them anywhere." Miranda admits, taking a look at the missed call from Andrea before putting her phone face down and making her way to the patio.

The two women stand there - each lost in their thoughts, each looking out at the darkening sky, at the twinkling stars, listening to the guests downstairs.

"I suppose we should go back down," Susan sighs after a while, not quite moving.  
"I never do anything I'm supposed to. It's part of my allure." Miranda comments, smirking at the older woman. "But in your case, I'll make the exception."  
"It's good to have you back." The older woman laughs, looking at the woman to her right, clasping her hand tight.  
"It's…good to see you too. I… You and Peter were both exceptionally kind to me, Susan. Better than you should've been and I-"  
"Miranda, no. No more of that. No 'shoulds' in love."  
"But you -" She struggles to keep her voice steady. "You were both, better to me than my own parents, and I left."  
"You left. Do you think that makes it mean less?"  
"No, but it wasn't fair. I wasn't fair."  
"Not to Peter and myself, no. But we still loved you. And do love you. And understand. You and Greg were in a bad place, and if I can be honest, he was a bit of a shit." The women both laugh. "But he grew up, and I suspect Miranda, you have too. If you haven't, then…" She sighs. "You have bigger issues."

Miranda wonders, she's grown older, but has she grown up?

"You're thinking too deeply. I'm the newly widowed one of us, remember?" Susan teases.  
"I'm just thinking. Why do people leave?"  
"People, Miranda? Or you?" She lets that one sink in for a moment. "There is this idea that people are around us forever, but they're not - not even the memories are. So give it all away Miranda. The love and the feelings. Send it out to the world, and maybe someone will remember a fragment, a piece of it. Now, are you going to answer your phone?"  
"What? Oh." Miranda realizes her phone is vibrating in her pocket. Andrea no doubt. She slips her hand in and silences it. "How did you hear that?"  
"New hearing aid. Advantage of getting older than time."

They head down together, arm in arm, and spend the night remembering the life of the man who brought them together.  


* * *

  
Miranda doesn't sleep that night, not well anyways. She finds herself on the futon on the balcony, wrapped in a chic cashmere wrap, and when the desert gets colder, the blanket from the bed. She dozes off and on as she is watching the stars and thinking. Stars were the constant in her life. From her youth to tonight, no matter where on Earth she found herself, no matter what she was doing, the stars were her only constant, her only true friends. She isn't getting any younger, and yet, here she is wondering the same questions she wondered as a child, as young woman - who was she, really? And what did she want? It's one thing to act as if you know, and another thing to actually know these things. She presses the voicemail button on her phone and listens once more to the message:

"Hi Miranda, it's me. I… just wanted to say good night. I…miss you. Not in a needy way. Just in a normal, healthy level of ... missing. I don't want to interrupt your family time, so I just wanted to call and say good night, and I miss you and call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

Oh, the topic of Andrea. Andrea who's heart she had to break. That much Miranda knows. How could she not break her heart? There was no way out without it. Andrea was too young, too earnest, too invested - too…dangerous. What she wouldn't give to see the other woman right now. To curl up into her arms and just be still. To hear her heart beat, to hear her breathe.

She listens to the voicemail once more.  


* * *

  
The next few days fly by in a whirl of memories and preparations and more togetherness than Miranda, or even her children are comfortable with. The Priestly women are nothing if not tight knit and independent, relying on themselves and if need be, each other, but very rarely others. The nights however, seem to crawl by for Miranda, who catches up on work from Peter's desk in the den, while everyone mills about reminiscing. She stays there until the last person has gone to bed, until the last ember in the fire place dies out and the desert chill forces her up to her bedroom and at last she has to face herself and her phone. Her phone that has been lighting up like a pinball machine all day, with messages from anyone and everyone except for the one person she wants to hear from.

Andrea, true to her implied word, has kept quiet - 'Silly Girl,' Miranda thinks to herself one night, washing her face, distracted from her normal routines. When has she ever done what was right? What was expected? It's entirely too infuriating. She should call her, give her a piece of her mind. Except… What's the point? Isn't she going to end it? Isn't that what this radio silence on her end is? A means of widening the gulf between them - making it easier on herself in the long run? She's so lost in thought that she doesn't hear the phone's first ring, or it's second. She doesn't know what number it's on, but when she realizes, she quickly taps the 'answer' button to be greeted by silence. "Andrea?" She finally speaks, "It's customary to speak when you call someone."  
"I'm sorry Miranda - I just…"  
"What's wrong? Why are you up so late?"  
"I was working. I missed you. I couldn't sleep. Take your pick." The younger woman scoffs quietly. "How's everything there?"  
"Oh, as good as can be, I suppose." Miranda turns off the light and crawls into bed. "Susan's handling it all very gracefully - but I worry when we leave. I may, and I'm speaking not to her boss, but to my…" What was Andrea to her, anyways? "But I may see if the girls would be willing to stay a day or two after we all leave, just make sure. Gregory's wife isn't awful, and it hurts me to admit that. I know she's not my stand in, but still. At least she's past puberty."  
"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" Andrea teases, and for a moment, Miranda can swear she can see the smile spread across the other woman's face. She settles into the pillows and huffs. "That is quiet enough from the peanut gallery, thank you very much."  
"Why, threatening to trade me in for a younger model?"  
"I will hang up Andrea."  
"I miss your voice." The honesty cuts to Miranda's core. Could she really give up this woman? And if so, at what cost to herself?  
"I'll be back soon." Miranda promises, her voice dropping down to a whisper. "Now, it's entirely too late for you, and without your brilliant intern to do your work for you, you'll be forced to fetch your own coffee tomorrow. Don't you think you should get some sleep?"  
"I told you, I can't." The voice on the other end confesses.  
"No, neither can I." She sighs.  
"Want me to sing to you?"  
"I can live without that."  
"Are you sure? The audience that applauds in my head when I sing in the shower thinks I'm great!"  
"I bet." She tries to ignore the warmth the sources through her body at the thought of Andrea in the shower.  
"You're thinking of me in the shower, aren't you?" She laughs, "Close your eyes Miranda."  
"I…am not, we are not…doing this." She can feel a blush spread all across her body.  
"No, we are not. But I am asking you to close your eyes for a moment." She waits a moment. "Are they closed?"  
"Yes Dear." She tries to ignore how natural that was. It seems Andrea has a nickname in her heart. Dear. How, very quaint and old fashioned.  
" I would like to watch you sleeping,  
which may not happen." She begins, her voice a near whisper. "I would like to watch you,  
sleeping. I would like to sleep  
with you, to enter  
your sleep as its smooth dark wave  
slides over my head…"

Andrea continues and before long, she has reached the end, and Miranda's breathing has leveled off, and Andrea can only suspect the other woman has fallen asleep. She whispers good night and hangs up the phone, somehow suspecting that she may get some sleep after all.  


* * *

  
The next morning Miranda wakes up - and though it takes a moment to recall why the phone is stuck to her face, she does, and it makes her smile. She's done all she can do right now and there's somewhere else she should be. She buys her ticket home (because truth be known, she can, in fact function without the aide of two assistants and a full staff) and readies herself and makes her way downstairs for breakfast.

Goodbyes are eventually said, hugs and kisses exchanged, and even a promise between Susan and Miranda to speak, to write, to visit more often. Before she knows it, she's alone in the car with Greg.

They make it about 12 minutes before Greg speaks. At first it's about the weather. Then the last trip he took. Then the girls. Anything. She had forgotten how much he hated silence. Maybe that was one of their (many) incompatibilities? "Why don't you say it Greg?" She finally speaks, giving in to his need for conversation.  
"Say what?"  
"Whatever it is you're dancing around. The time you told me you were cheating, you gave me a play-by-play of all 9 innings of a baseball game before you got to the point."  
"By which time you had already packed a bag."  
"Yours." She arches an eyebrow over her newest pair of sunglasses.  
"Oh, you're slipping, Randi. I used to be afraid of that look. The withering glance of the goddess."  
"I'll try harder to instill a sense of terror into you next time." She teases.  
"Please do." He laughs, "Do you remember how excited we used to get?"  
"Over?"  
"Over everything. Over music and museums and books and designers and science and politics and food."  
"Vaguely." She answers cautiously, unsure of where this is going.  
"I… miss that. Maybe I'm just getting old, but you were the best friend I ever had, Miranda. And I'd like to work on getting back there. Seeing if we can be friends again. We liked each other at one point didn't we?"  
"We loved each other. Completely." She feels her chest constrict at the thought of what that was like, complete and utter love and surrender to another person. All she remembers is the pain. But there more - there had to be. "I don't know if I want to be friends Greg. I don't know if I remember how."  
"It's a simple as this, isn't it?" He asks, "Speak to each other? Share news? Maybe dinner with the girls, and Stephanie? And whoever your mystery man is?"  
"It's not a mystery." She scoffs, blushing.  
"You can't hide anything from me Randi. That's the danger of your deathly pallor."  
"Go to hell." She laughs, throwing the lid from her San Pellegrino in his direction.  
"Only if you're there with me!"  
"Together through thick and thin and eternal damnation?" She asks.  
"So it seems." He shrugs.

She looks at him, and in the glare of the desert sunshine, she sees every version of Greg all at once: the boy she met in London, so many years ago, and the husband he was, and the father he is, and the man he eventually became. And she realizes, if she was going to have to be stuck with a friend she never asked for, she could do worse than this one right here.

"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."  
"You know, Randi, I forgot you were a big, fat nerd."


	11. Home to Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets a little mature. If you’re made uncomfortable or underage or the like, I suggest you skip this chapter. If you’ve made it this far, and through the behemoth that was Chapter Nine, <3 <3 <3 and appreciations.

She is exhausted.

She is tired, and weary and exhausted and wants to go home. She should’ve gone home. Instead she’s here, standing in the hall, waiting for the door to open. 

Why is she here?

She can hear the music, loud from the other side of the door. She knocks louder, hoping to be heard over the din. The sooner Andrea opens the door, the less time she’ll have to race through all the reasons this is wrong. At last count, there was 72 reasons on her list, jotted during the flight back into JFK. Miranda’s so focused on her list that she doesn’t realize the door has opened until she hears Andrea’s voice - a half sigh greeting her with a simple “Hi!” She stands there for a moment, taking in the delicious sight of Andrea in yoga pants and bare feet and a tank top - hair disheveled, dish towel in her hand and she’s overcome for a moment with this sensation that she promptly files for later. There have been so many thoughts, so many feelings over the last week, emotions and realizations she is unprepared to deal with, and she is a woman who prides herself on being prepared. 

Suddenly it’s too much - the emotions, the realizations and the 72 reasons - she steps forward and is suddenly lost in the feel of Andrea wrapping her arms around her. The movement is swift and fluid. The door closes behind her, behind them, as a near-silent period. The end of the sentence and the beginning of a new one.

She should speak. 

She should say something, but Andrea feels so warm, surrounding her in softness, in compassion that she finds herself on the verge of tears. The tears she didn’t cry the whole time in Arizona. Tears she hadn’t cried in so long for Peter, and Susan, and Greg, and her girls and maybe even herself. She couldn’t recall the last time she cried - tears were useless and puffed her eyes and ruined her make up and her image. She wouldn’t start again here, with Andrea, no matter how tempted she was. She hears Andrea murmuring in her ear, not quite cooing, but a soft stream of sounds and words that she couldn’t quite place so much as feel all over her skin as if she were a child, a helpless child. 

She manages to tear herself away from the other woman, a deep breath helping restore her strength, a setting of her jaw restoring her composure. “I’m sorry Andrea, I must be terrifying you, showing up on your doorstep like this.”  
“Not at all Miranda. At least not until you apologized.” A cocked grin on the other woman’s face helps Miranda balance again. Had Andrea always been this graceful, this kind?  
“I should go, it looks like you’re expecting company.”  
“No.” Andrea answers simply, stepping behind Miranda and wordlessly helping remove her trench coat. “Just caught me in a domestic moment. I have them every so often if I’m stuck on a piece.” She hangs the coat in the closet and makes her way back to the kitchen, calling out “How was your flight back?”  
“Awful, but then again, domestic travel always is.” Miranda answers back after a moment, following the other woman. If Andrea is insisting on this domestic charade, then who was she to interrupt her make-believe? The kitchen is small, and looks like every other kitchen in every other prefab condo nowadays, but was bursting with … Andrea. She suspects the rest of the flat was the same. It seems the woman had a skill for marking everything as her own, making something out of nothing, sows ears and silk purses (or words to that extend).  
“Can I get you a drink?”  
“I should get home,” She responds, and then falters for a moment, looking at the younger woman leaning against the fridge with the most amused look on her face. She wants very much to kiss that look off her face, but doesn’t know how. “I stopped here first, for some unknown reason.”  
“But if you leave, you’ll miss the grand tour.” Andrea shrugs, “You haven’t been here before.”  
“I need to shower.”  
“Funny enough…” Andrea begins, moving towards her slowly, “I’m pretty sure I have one of those. And you…” She stands as close to Miranda as she can without touching her, “Have everything you need in your suitcase.”  
“Do I?” Her mouth is dry. Her stomach is flipping around. Her heart is racing and she’s just praying her décolletage isn’t betraying her with its telltale blush of desire.  
“Almost.” Andrea slips past to just behind Miranda and sets forth pouring some wine and offering it to Miranda. “Now you do. Come on, let me give you the five cent tour.” 

She slips her hand into Miranda’s and walks her through her small flat, “The breakfast nook, the living room/study/guest room” She smiles when she notice Miranda’s eyes gravitate to her shelves and shelves of books. “The observation deck.” She indicates to the large floor to ceiling windows that reveal the twinkling lights of Brooklyn and it’s famed bridge. From the care Andrea takes in pointing this out and the left over cup of coffee on the small table by them, Miranda suspects this is Andrea’s favorite place in the apartment. It’s pedestrian, yes, but endearing. With a gentle tug, the tour continues, “The bedroom” Andrea blushes, moving past the bed, nudging something underneath it with her foot, leading her to… “As I suspected, the shower.” The look of pride on and amusement on the other woman’s face is enough to make Miranda raise an eyebrow.  
“Are you trying to get me to disrobe Andrea?”  
“Absolutely. The brunette slides in and with a swift motion, places a hand on her waist and a kiss on her unsuspecting mouth. After a second, Miranda breathes into it, relaxing into it. It’s not hurried, or pressured, there’s so much simmering below the surface between the two of them. “I have dinner on the stove. I should check on it.” Andrea apologizes as she steps back.  
“A woman can get used to hearing that.”  
“Could she?” Andrea asks as she makes her way back to the kitchen, leaving Miranda alone with her thoughts… mainly, was the saunter and sway of Andrea’s hips. 

She sighs as she glances at herself in the mirror. The opportunity is tempting, there’s no point in denying it. After a week of non-stop company, the idea of going to an empty house, seems somewhat lonely. Especially when there was Andrea here. Andrea, with her warmth and kindness. No matter how complex Miranda’s thoughts were regarding the other woman, the being with her was simple. But there was more at play here then her desires. If she stayed:  
\- Would they sleep together?  
\- Would Andrea even want to sleep with a middle aged mother of two (no matter how fit and trim)?  
\- As the middle aged mother of two, was she ready to sleep with a woman barely in her 30s?  
\- Was she ready to sleep with a woman?  
\- What did she know about sleeping with a woman?  
\- Was she ready to sleep with anyone? 

She doubted it was truly said by Marilyn Monroe, but sentiment held true, the few people she had bedded had slept with Miranda and were severely disappointed when they woke up with Miriam. She hated that name. She hated the look in their faces when they realized it. When they convinced themselves they’d been tricked, been duped into - she feels eyes on her. Andrea is watching from the doorway, towels in hand. “Just in case.” She shrugs, placing them on the sink. “You have time before dinner, I’ve just started the side.”  
“I should go.”  
“Ok.” Andrea doesn’t move, and neither does she. She can pick out some words from the music coming from the living room, something about being too young, being too old. She wonders if Andrea’s picked this out for a reason, or if it was just serendipitous? After a beat Andrea blinks and turns, making her way back to the kitchen. In her wake, Miranda can see her suitcase placed on a chair, ready to open, ready to stay. Why does this woman even want her to stay? She’s mean and cruel and confused and generally not very easy to be around. But still, Andrea does everything in her power to be accommodating. She’s the human equivalent of a mindless Saint Bernard, albeit an attractive human equivalent. 

This really isn’t going to end well, she thinks to herself, depositing her phone on the charger by Andrea’s bed and unzipping her suitcase. Better to get this over with now, instead of after. Save them both some heartache. She undoes her blouse, she unpacks her cosmetics, she digs out a change of clothes, she runs the shower to warm it (after she inspects it thoroughly and is pleased to find Andrea’s spat of domesticity has extended to a meticulously scrubbed tub), she glides her hand over Andrea’s bed (the sheets will do for now, but she’ll need to purchase some better ones if she expects to make this…a habit), she looks at the few photos on the dresser and the wall - a brood of dark haired people, her family, she suspects. So odd to think of Andrea, her Andrea, as part of a unit, an entity independent of New York. What was her reinvention like, she ponders, stripping nude and stepping under the warm stream of water (the water pressure passible), going from perky student to seducing Miranda Priestly. She knows appallingly little about the other woman’s life before their reintroduction. She thinks on how she’d like to keep it this way. 

Separate. 

She doesn’t know why.

She washes her hair, washes her face (a sign of defeat or submission, she only rarely allows herself the comfort of this bad habit), washes her body. She needs to decide, before stepping out of safety of the bedroom, just how far she’ll go tonight. The list, with the 72 reasons is still valid. But that is something to be dealt with tomorrow. For tonight, she’s decided to indulge in comforts she’s accustomed to denying herself. The warmth of the other woman, a second (or third) glass of wine, washing her face in the shower. She finally steps out from beneath the stream, refreshed, despite the late hour, despite the travel and the uncertainty. She takes great care in applying moisturizer to every inch of her still damp skin. She selects a perfume, then reconsiders, putting it back down. She towel dries her hair and uses some oil and some product to tame it, opting to finger comb it all back, not wanting to deal with the hairdryer, not wanting to blur the lines between Miranda and Miriam. It isn’t fair testing Andrea like this, but it’s necessary, for the both of them. She leaves her arms, her neck, her body unadorned, choosing to slip into simple sand colored silk slacks and a slim white camisole, a loose stone colored linen sweater over it. She doesn’t smile so much as nod at her reflection in the mirror, building up her courage to open the door and step out. She hasn’t decided yet, her hand on the doorknob, listening for clues on the other side of the door. There’s the sound of china landing on the tables, pots in the sink, the soft pop of another bottle of wine being opened. Eventually, it’s the sound of her stomach growling in protest that makes her decide to open the door. She decides that it doesn’t have to mean anything, the open door doesn’t have to a metaphor for her decision. It can simply be an open door.

She finds Andrea seated on the couch, not quite sprawled, but definitely languishing, book in hand, wine glass by her side. “Hello.” She murmurs as she makes her way over to Andrea.  
“Hello you.” The other woman smiles up at her as she dog ears the corner of the book. She tries not to wince - of course Andrea’s the type of person who’d do that. Andrea begins to laugh.  
“What?”  
“You don’t approve of dog earring. Noted.” She rises, tucking the book between the couch cushion and the arm of the couch. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am a little jealous of how good you look fresh from the shower.” Andrea comments, placing a quick kiss on her lips. “Are you hungry?”  
“Famished.” Miranda confesses, a little stunned at the other woman’s ease. She looks almost nothing like her persona, her alter-ego, sometimes even she has difficulty recognizing herself without the trappings of Miranda, and yet, this woman took no note.  
“Great, because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t put a lot of work into dinner.” Andrea smirks before taking her hand and leading her to the breakfast nook. 

Dinner is an easy affair, slow and meandering. Andrea had made a mushroom and truffle polenta with a simple salad on the side. It was surprisingly delicious and Miranda chooses to forget that at some point, there had been a cook in the picture. They touch throughout the meal - a hand, a foot, anything. At first it throws Miranda off, but she finds she becomes accustomed to it quickly. They eventually find themselves on the couch, still touching, still talking. Until the talking turns to kissing and the touching… the touching. At some point while they were distracted, Andrea navigates herself onto Miranda’s lap, a thigh on either side of the other woman, straddling her. She’s too focused on mapping Miranda’s lips, Miranda’s neck, Miranda’s collarbones to notice the heat rising from their bodies. She’s thankful for the other woman’s damp hair, she doesn’t need to worry about mussing it as she runs her fingers through it and tugs back slightly to allow greater access to her neck. Andy finds it incredible being the source and the cause of Miranda’s moans. She feels Miranda’s hands undo her ponytail, run through her hair, over and over and over again until she has no choice but to remove her mouth off Miranda and just breathe. It’s difficult to breathe, it’s difficult to focus on anything as long as the other woman’s hands were in her hair. She can hear a whimper and is surprised to find it coming from herself. “Please,” She whispers, half-hoping the music drowns out her words, “Please Miranda.” She can’t help keep her hips from their rhythm, pushing themselves against Miranda’s own, rising to meet their mate. The older woman lowers her hands from Andrea’s hair and for a moment, they just allow themselves the moment, staring into each other’s eyes, trying to communicate without words, give their racing hearts a moment to catch up, half-praying their hips slow their roll. With a deep breath, Andy grabs the hem of her top and yanks it over her head, revealing her breasts, pink with desire in a simple bra. Miranda feels a flood of stickiness between her legs, unlike anything she could remember experiencing. She raises a hand and slowly drags it from the other woman’s stomach up to her cotton-clad breasts, she hovers above the swell, brushing over Andrea’s skin as if it were precious - before reaching behind her and unclasping her bra. Andrea slides it off and flings it into a dark corner and waits. 

She waits.

Her body literally aches with desire, with the desire to touch Miranda, to be touched everywhere the way she knows Miranda wants to, but still can’t bring herself to. She breathes slowly, trying to temper her want of the other woman and waits.

Miranda, for what it’s worth, is taking in Andrea. Is taking in every last inch, every last detail of the other woman. Her hair, her eyes glowing, the blush on her cheeks, on her breasts, the surprising smattering of freckles and feel of her hips rolling into hers softly. It’s clear that she was more than willing and was just waiting for Miranda. 

The number of times Miranda had felt like a Queen was countless. She was as close to one that America and that Fashion could have. She ruled the modern equivalent of Empires, but here and now, having Andrea on her lap, half-nude and breathing hard and heavy with desire, she wonders if this is what it feels like to be a King. She has no doubt that Andrea would fulfill every desire, but would she know how to return it? What does she know about another woman’s body? She barely knows anything about her own and she’s been living with it for more years than she cares to count. She feels a soft touch on her cheek, Andrea’s brown eyes are peering into hers, reminding her to return to this moment, this place. “It’s ok to want, Miranda. And it’s ok if you don’t want to… go any further.” After a moment, she moves to reach for the discarded tank top, but is stopped by the woman beneath her.  
“This isn’t easy for me, Andrea.” She murmurs, moving her head closer, pressing her forehead to the other woman’s. “This isn’t me.”  
“This is you, Miranda. And this is me. Just you and me. That’s all.” She smiles and places a chaste kiss on Miranda’s lips, Swiftly she feels the other woman’s hand on her breast, cupping the weight and circling the nipple with her thumb. She snaps her head back with surprise and lets out a sudden sound of desire. The touch, as quick, as sudden as it was, sends a jolt through her, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. The sudden arching of her back made it very easy for Miranda to be able to lower her mouth to the other breast and tease it with her teeth and soothe it with her tongue. 

She begins to pant out Miranda’s name or as close to it as she can get. Every nerve is alive and sparking and breathing is difficult. Thinking is out of the question - the only thing running through Andy’s mind is a mantra consisting of begging Miranda for release. By the time Miranda’s hand makes it past Andrea’s waistband, she’s whimpering from the verge of climax. She clings tightly to Miranda, her arms wrapped tightly around the other woman’s neck so that every sound from her lips send hot breath to the shell of her ear. Despite the awkward angle, Miranda’s hand lingers between the damp curves between Andrea’s legs. She can literally smell how close Andrea is to … in her hands. She can hear it in the moans, now just a string of sounds and she can feel it in the dampness in her hand. She has never held this much power in a sexual relationship before and she wants to relish this moment, this absolute need the other woman has for her, in case she never gets to experience it again. 

In case Andrea never wants her like this again.

That thought causes her heart to drop and her fingers to slide hard into Andrea. She hopes, in some twisted way, that the other woman feels the same pain as she did at the thought, but all she can feel is the younger woman tighten around her fingers, tighten around her shoulder. This woman is hers now. This is all she can think about. That this woman is hers. She works her hand in and out now, ignoring the cramping and discomfort. Andrea is hers. Andrea is hers. The thought speeds up to match her the pace set by her hand, by the other woman’s hips, until she feels Andrea clench tightly around her and then suddenly release, spent and exhausted. She feels her go limp in her arms, she feels goosebumps rise across her skin. A contented sigh slips past Andrea’s lips, “Thank you.” She murmurs, burrowing her head in the other woman’s neck.  
“So polite.” Miranda tries to tease, but unsure what comes next. “I do need my hand back.”  
“No you don’t. You can go to work like this, can’t you? Call it the latest accessory?”  
“I could, but - my hand, it’s…uncomfortable.” She confesses.  
“Oh!” Andrea exclaims, finally realizing the angle at which Miranda held her. She rises slightly, allowing Miranda to slip out from within her. She feels the loss immediately and acutely. She settles back down on Miranda’s lap, not wanting to release the other woman from their position. She watches as Miranda attempts to deal with her hand in the most ladylike of manners and can’t help but feel mesmerized by the sight of the other woman flexing them, coaxing blood and sensation back to them. She knew she should be embarrassed, but all she could think about was how those slim fingers who flicked through pages and balanced a red marker with grace were just inside her. Was that really her making those sounds? Saying those words (whatever they may be)? They should’ve waited, they should’ve moved to the bedroom, they should’ve -  
“Andrea?” Miranda softly speaks, “Are you alright?”  
“I -” She takes the other woman’s face in hers and kisses her firmly, hoping to convince the other woman to stay, to overlook whatever embarrassment she may have caused.  
“Well, not that I object, but what was that for?”  
“Thank you.”  
“You already said that.”  
“Just…I’m…sorry, if it was too fast, or not fast enough or - and I haven’t even done anything for you and -”  
“Andrea, calm down.” She hooks free hand around Andrea’s back, “Your chatter is threatening to ruin a perfectly lovely moment.” She reaches for the tank top and tries to wipe her hand, but finds the stickiness has dried. She looks at it, curious about the taste, the smell, some men had such a desire for it, but she couldn’t bring herself to raise it to her lips, not yet. She blushes at the though. “As for me, I assure you, you have more than satisfied me for the time being. You are…magnificent.” She looks the younger woman in the eye as she says this, willing her to see it as truth. She holds eye contact until the other woman looks convinced. Miranda hates herself for this moment, because it’s true. She is as satisfied as if Andrea actually…did anything to her. She doesn’t know why the other woman seems embarrassed, Miranda is the one who should feel shame over her actions, her loss of control over her actions and her desires, her desire to possess the other woman. That feeling seems so foreign now, as if it were another woman who acted, another woman who wore Miranda’s skin and clothes as if they were her own.

So there they are. Each alone in their thoughts.

Andy eventually rises and winces. “I’m going to need to take up yoga, or at least stretch before we do that again.” She laughs, offering Miranda her hand to help her off the couch.  
“You’re awfully certain about the repeat performance.” Miranda responds, raising an eyebrow, pursing her lips.  
“I… can we not joke about that? At least right now? Tonight?” Andrea asks, hiding her head beneath her hair. “Can we just…” She squeezes Miranda’s hand for a moment then leads her to the bedroom.

* * *

Miranda watches the fog.

It doesn’t move or roll or float. It just hangs in the air, covering the city in a velvety blanket. She wishes she were at home, on her rooftop, feeling the cold damp on her skin. She slides the window open as far as it will go and sticks her free hand out, desperate for some contact with it, however slight. 

She sips her coffee. 

This is her favorite time of day. It’s quiet. Tranquil. It allows her to think. She has so much to think about now. What is she even doing with Andrea? It scares her and she is not a woman who likes to be scared. She doesn’t have time for this waffling on her late-in-life lesbian conversion. She doesn’t have time or patience for waffling in general. She doesn’t have time for Andrea, or whatever they are playing at. She doesn’t have time for self-indulgence. She knows what she has to do. She doesn’t know why she’s hesitating. She’s never hesitated before. She’s always known what she wants, what needs to be done, then has acted swiftly to obtain the desired outcome. This inability to act is new and all together unpleasant. 

More than that, it’s dangerous to her. 

It’s dangerous to play with things and people she can’t control, can’t predict. Andrea is not a woman she can predict. Hidden in her bouts of domesticity, in her skill as a writer, her talent for charming others, is a dangerous woman just now starting to realize her power. Of course it’s power, what else can it be that makes Miranda think of things she hasn’t thought of in years? Things like home, things like…this could be her every day. Not this apartment, with the childproof windows and this view, but this woman, this delicious soreness in her muscles, this unexpected turn of events.

She feels a warm body press into her from behind, hesitant and tentative, an arm slides around her waist and chin rests upon her shoulder. “Here you are.” Andrea whispers in her ear.  
“Here I am.” Miranda murmurs, not looking back.  
“You looked deep in thought, I didn’t want to interrupt, but my robe went missing this morning.”  
“Can’t imagine where it went.” Miranda purses her lips into a smile as she recalls sliding the other woman’s grey silk over her body this morning.  
“I missed you this morning.”  
“Well here I am.”  
“I was talking to my robe.” Andrea teases, nipping Miranda’s exposed neck. “You look like you’re thinking serious thoughts.”  
“What are we doing?”  
“I love you.”

She raises her eyebrow in surprise. It appears she was correct about the other woman’s unpredictability. 

“Don’t be childish Andrea?”  
“I have come to realize I am very much in love with you Miranda. And if this ends here and now, before it really even begins,then I may as well do whatever I can, say whatever I want.”  
“It’s impossible. You’re impossible.”  
“Everybody needs something impossible to hope for.”  
“I don’t do anything by half measure Andrea, you should know this about me by now.”  
“Neither do I Miranda.” 

Miranda can feel Andrea’s jaw set as it digs into her shoulder.

“Do you know what it means to be in a relationship with me?”  
“No, but I love you enough to want to find out. I think I’ve loved you since…I don’t know when. You don’t… you don’t have to love me, Miranda. I’m not asking for that. I’m just asking you to…try this. Try me.”  
“You are a human, Andrea, not a garment to try on.”

She turns in Andrea’s arm, shocked and a little thrilled that the other woman is nude. 

“Speaking of, why don’t you have any clothes on?”  
“Because my robe went missing.” Andrea shrugs, running her hand down the front of the robe. “Put down the mug Miranda.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I’m about to kiss you and I don’t want to break the mug. It’s mya favorite.”  
“Already at this stage of the relationship? Mundanities about robes and mugs?”  
“So it seems.”  
“Very well.” Miranda sighs, placing the mug on the table, steeling herself for Andrea’s kiss. 

Tawdry novels talk about drowning in a kiss but with Andrea, it is as if she can finally breathe, she can breathe deeply and safely, without worry or fear. 

Predictability is overrated. And isn’t she always complaining about the derivativeness of every day? The danger of routine? She doesn’t have time or patience for waffling. She wants this woman. This is a fact. She wants this woman, so she will have this woman. As she said to Andrea earlier, she isn’t one to deny herself such pleasures. Such desires.

It was going to hurt when it ends. And it was going to end. Poorly most likely. Pain was the only certainty in a relationship like this, with a person as volatile as she was, as they both were. But wasn’t that what life was all about? 

She feels the belt of the robe slide open, the heat of Andrea’s skin on hers. She feels the ground move beneath her feet before she realizes Andrea is leading them to the bedroom. Pushing them onto the still unmade bed.  
 “I want you.”

Neither of them can tell who said it. It could’ve so easily been either one of them.


	12. Hotline Bling aka ‘Missed Connections’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who's left lovely messages, or has even the smallest drop of interest in this story. The whole of the story has been meticulously plotted but the last four months have brought major challenges of a personal level - but I promised myself that I would finish this story.
> 
> This chapter is a little different in format - but please bear with it (and with me :)

Andrea Sachs: Whatcha doin’?  
M. Priestly: Did you really go through the effort of phonetically translating your atrocious grammar?  
Andrea Sachs: Maaaaaybe.  
Andrea Sachs: Whatcha doin’?  
M. Priestly: I’m working Andrea.  
Andrea Sachs: Can I call you goodnight?  
M. Priestly: If you must.  
Andrea Sachs: You know, without emojis you're hard to read.  
M. Priestly: Guess you'll need to call to find out.

* * *

“Andrea, I take it by the fact you’ve allowed this to go into voicemail that you’re busy strangling a cat in the shower (and oh, how I wish that were a euphemism. I’m running about 15 minutes late, the art department was inept (as usual) and traffic is atrocious.”

* * *

Andrea Sachs: They’re out of the plain naan, so I just ordered garlic naan. It’ll be here in 45 minutes and this time I won’t hesitate to start without you.

* * *

ReplyTo: asachs@gmail.com  
From: mpriestly@eliasclark.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Saturday Night

Andrea -

This is a reminder that if I find out you’ve watched ahead, I will be displeased. 

M.

PS - And no, not the ‘good’ displeased.

* * *

M. Priestly: I know you wanted to go out for dinner, but I’ll be working late if we’re going to make it to press.  
Andrea Sachs: Sad panda. That’s fine - I actually need some time to finish some research. Can’t imagine why I’ve been distracted lately.  
M. Priestly: That’s because your imagination is being put to better use elsewhere.  
Andrea Sachs: Like…?  
M. Priestly: I have to run. I ‘ll leave the keys for you at the front desk.  
M. Priestly: That is, if you’d like.  
M. Priestly: Never mind.  
Andrea Sachs: I’d like :)

* * *

ReplyTo: mpriestly@eliasclark.com  
From: asachs@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Tonight

Wake me?

Andy

> >  
> > ReplyTo: asachs@gmail.com  
> > From: mpriestly@eliasclark.com  
> > Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Tonight  
> >  
> > Andrea -  
> >  
> > There’s fashionably late and then there’s this meeting. Apparently  
> > Martin’s flight was delayed and we can’t start without him. Don’t  
> > bother waiting up for me. I’ll try not to wake you up.  
> >  
> > M.

* * *

Andrea Sachs: There’s no hot water at my building tomorrow :/  
M. Priestly: And?  
Andrea Sachs: Any chance you can find it in your great, big generous heart to let me spend the night?  
M. Priestly: I’ve been called many things Andrea, but generous isn’t one of them.  
Andrea Sachs: It is now.  
M. Priestly: I will allow it only if you agree not to wear those atrocious socks to bed.  
Andrea Sachs: I’d rather take my chances with a cold shower.  
M. Priestly: After Monday, I’d say you need it.  
Andrea Sachs: You weren’t complaining.  
M. Priestly: Nor am I now. Nor will I be tomorrow morning.  
Andrea Sachs: <3  
M. Priestly: :|  
M. Priestly: (The girls taught me that one)

* * *

ReplyTo: asachs@gmail.com  
From: mpriestly@eliasclark.com  
Subject: Re: What are you wearing tonight?

It’s not what, but who. 

YSL - The emerald and beige suit I showed you a sketch of. I believe you liked that one?

Remind me once I’m back in the City to murder the person thought overlapping London, Milan and Paris Fashion Weeks was an acceptable idea.

I do miss you - especially when you’re needlessly endangering your life.

M.

 

>  
> To: mpriestly@eliasclark.com asachs@gmail.com  
> From: asachs@gmail.com  
> Subject: What are you wearing tonight?  
>  
> Sorry I missed your call, was on a ride along with that FBI agent I told you about  
> (and yes, I was careful :) it was so fun, and so incredibly productive! Isn’t it  
> odd how some stories just fall perfectly into place, like you’re just this means to  
> tell the story the way it needs to be told and some are excruciating to cobble  
> together into something you’re not humiliated to show anyone?  
>  
> Aaaaannnnyways…  
>  
> I’m sorry I missed you call. I know you’re in back to back shows tonight (and  
> tomorrow and forever :) but I do hope you get some sleep and a chance to  
> take care of yourself.  
>  
> I love you.  
>  
> Andy  
>  
> PS - What are you wearing tonight? ;)

* * *

"Hi, it's um, me. I know your flight gets in incredibly late and the first thing you're going to want to do is go home, but I just...wanted to let you know, you know, if you wanted to stop by or something, that would be ok too. I um, miss you in a completely normal and not-at-all-needy way. Love you."

* * *

Andrea Sachs Missed Call.  
Andrea Sachs Missed Call.  
Andrea Sachs Missed Call & Voice Mail.  
Andrea Sachs: Pick up.  
M. Priestly: Are you dying? What is going on?  
Andrea Sachs: Can you talk?  
M. Priestly: Not at this present time. Board Meeting is running late, per usual.  
Andrea Sachs: OK. I’m having this thing with some friends tonight and -  
M. Priestly: …  
M. Priestly: That is why you called me numerous times?  
Andrea Sachs: I just wanted to know if you wanted to stop by.  
Andrea Sachs: Not as my girlfriend.  
Andrea Sachs: Or as my girlfriend. As my…anything really.  
M. Priestly: I am not your girlfriend, Andrea. Burgers and malted or whatever you’re having at the diner isn’t quite my ‘thing’.  
Andrea Sachs: It’s not -  
M. Priestly: The grown ups are working.  
Andrea Sachs: is typing… is typing… is typing.  
M. Priestly: I’m putting my phone down now Andrea. Good bye.

Later that night Miranda sighs at her desk and looks at the pages strewn upon her desk. They really do need another editor. She is loathe to admit that perhaps she fired Martin too quickly, the junior editors are ill-equip to do their work without a guiding hand, if the loose pages of the marked in red have anything to say about it. 

She purses her lips as she looks at the middle third of the issue - something isn’t working - there is no connection or flow between Julia Fullerton-Batten piece and the hair color piece. The juxtaposition makes it painful how vapid the second piece is - she doesn’t know who approved it in the first place during her absence to the funeral (she jots down a note for the assistants to find out exactly who that idiot was). 

Is it too late to cut it? Yes - they’ll be short pages… 

Unless… She takes a sip from her water. Unless… 

She pulls up the folder from the Fullerton-Batten piece off the server and projects them onto the television for clarity… There was something here, she remembers it from when the interview first took place - she didn’t have the time to go through it closely, just did a cursory glance - but as she scrolls through the images, she begins to jot down image numbers she likes… If they include more images, different images… there it is. The ones that caught her eye earlier. 

Now - the copy was fine, Andrea had made all the requested edits, but even with the image changes, they were still about two and a half pages short. Miranda pulled up her email and did a quick search to find what she was looking for… With some minor edits, it would work. She printed off the new mock ups and forwarded the necessary changes and additional copy to the relevant departments and added a note to the assistants to clear the edits with legal & finance. She’d have to see the mock up Monday night, but she was fairly certain this would work and smooth over the content gap.

Hair color. She sighs. 

It’s not that the idea was bad, per se, but the overall execution just read like something that belonged in Cosmo or something. It wasn’t on brand. But what was Runway’s brand anymore? She leans back in her chair - there was so much to mull over after the board meeting. What is luxury in the face of the dumbing down of the very thing she had dedicated so much of her life and energy to? The world wasn’t changing - it had already changed - and she knew she had to as well, but in what direction? In what way? 

Her phone buzzes somewhere in the background, but she attempts to ignore it as she takes a pen and began to map out her thoughts. 

It keeps buzzing every couple of minutes, disrupting her thoughts until she snatches it to mute Andrea (most likely still sulking over earlier) but is surprised to see it’s not Andrea, but rather a slew of texts from Nigel:  
Nigel Kippling: Miranda - what on earth is important that you aren’t here?  
Nigel Kippling: I won’t be ignored Miranda [moving image of Glenn Close from that awful bunny movie]  
Nigel Kippling: Seriously, you don’t go to print for another week.  
Nigel Kippling: Ok, I might be drunk enough to not pretend I don’t know about you and Six. But I’m NOT too drunk to see how sad she is. I believe Caroline said ‘bummed’ I should not be surprised that that word is coming back, but I am.  
Nigel Kippling: I’ll just leave this here… [picture of Andrea, leaning in to what looks like an intimate conversation with…] she zooms in to make out the face [Christian! With his hand on her thigh.]

Well, Miranda thought to herself as she sat back in her chair, that didn’t last long.


	13. Something So Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover your ears - there's some swearing.
> 
> This is a short update in advance of the massive chapter coming up next week.

* * *

It’s been three days since Miranda has heard from Andrea.

Well, correction - it’s been three days since Miranda has responded to any of Andrea’s forms of communication, so when she notices an envelope in her hallway, having been slipped under her front door that morning - practically glowing white in the pre-dawn light - her heart sinks a little more. Of course Andrea would do it via writing. Explain her unexplainable actions that is. It wasn’t just the photo Nigel sent, or the fact that the following morning a similar photo was printed on Page Six with some salacious write up about the doe-eyed writer who captured the bad boy of publishing for the night. It was that her own daughters were right there in the background. That Andrea thought so little of her to disrespect on her in front of her own children. 

She doesn’t let herself think about the fact that perhaps Andrea had tired of her already, was already tired of her even before they began. That her body and her mind failed to retain the younger woman’s interests. She doesn’t let herself think about the fact that Andrea was simply using her. 

Miranda refuses to be that pathetic, that pitiful. Whatever caused Andrea to seek out that bimbo he-slut was and is entirely out of her control. She doesn’t let herself think about how long it must have been going on.

Wrapping herself tighter in the grey silk robe that has somehow found it’s way from Andrea’s apartment to her home, she wanders over to the door and picks up the envelope. It’s heavier than expected. She opens it and finds a single page written with the younger woman’s looping scrawl and her house keys returned.

_Miranda -_

_I figured that for now (I hope it’s just for now) I should return your key. I would’ve returned it in person, but you seem to be ignoring me, and I didn’t want to bring the girls into this._

_I don’t know what I did, or what I didn’t do, or how you managed to turn my justifiable anger at being belittled into this, but here we are._

_I hope you call me when you’re ready and when you know what you want. I hope this isn’t it, but if it is, thank you for this much at least._

_I love you._

_Andrea_

She crumples the letter and shoves it in her pocket. She’ll throw it out later. It doesn’t matter.

That’s what she keeps telling herself as she picks out her outfit, as she showers, as she gets ready for her day: It doesn’t matter. 

She doesn’t matter.

* * *

“We missed you the other night.” Nigel comments as he sips his wine at lunch.  
“I don’t want to talk about it Nigel.”  
“Alright. When would you like to talk about it?”  
“Never. It seems to be getting harder and harder to bounce back from jet lag, don’t you think?”  
“It’s called ageing. Speaking of ageing…”  
“We weren’t.” She signals the waiter over.  
“I was. It was Six’s birthday.”  
“When?”  
“That night.”  
“Steak, medium rare.” She orders with the waiter, “Salad, caesar on the side, no croutons, no cheese, no attitude. Nigel?”  
“Same.” He snaps shut his menu and hands it over.  
“Why would I be interested with that child’s birthday, anyway?” She ignores his previous suspicions about her and Andrea. Friends do that, don’t they? Ignore the painfully obvious.  
“You seemed close.” He comments, his face neutral. “It’s a shame. You missed quite the show.”  
“You were kind enough to send me running commentary.”  
“That was before my phone died. I didn’t get to tell you about the part where she gave Christian a bath in, well, whatever he was drinking. Priceless. I thought only Bette Davis did that.”  
“Repeat yourself.”  
“Apparently, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.” He takes a pause as he sips his water. He straightens his cutlery to heighten out the drama. “Apparently our dear Six is so smitten with whomever she’s seeing, she turned him down, repeatedly.” - his face stony straight - “So when he finally got the message she just wasn’t interested in him, he moved on to, well, the girls.”  
“My girls?” Her heart drops. Why does Christian insist on getting his grubby, undeserving hands on her life.  
“And before I can do anything, she just completely cock blocks him by dropping our next round of drinks on him.” He sips his water once more. “So,” He changes the topic, “What did you think of the Balmain show - could it have been any more insipid?”

* * *

M. Priestly: Andrea, why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday? Or what you did to Christian?  
M. Priestly: Andrea - please.  
No response.

Well. Miranda was never one to sit idly by.

Forty five minutes later (thank you, New York traffic, for impeding the tattered remains of her romantic life), she tries again, this time from the halls of the Mirror where she was directed to by a terrified staff member. If this is the type of coward that the paper employed, no wonder print was dying.

M. Priestly: Andrea.  
Andrea Sachs: Not now, Miranda. The grown ups are working.  
M. Priestly: Look up.

Miranda watches from across the glass wall as Andrea’s head snaps up from where she’s sitting. It must be that dreadful weekly editorial meeting she keeps moaning about. Judging by the content on the whiteboard, she has every right to continue to moan about it. Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Andrea Sachs: My office. One floor up, fourth door on your left.

* * *

She drops her coat and purse on Andrea’s chair and takes a look around. It’s fairly bare boned, but the furniture is solid, reputable wood, probably decades old. There’s a bookcase with books, some photos, a framed copy of her first story, a vintage typewriter. It seems like hours, waiting for Andrea to make it back to her office. Miranda would be certain it’s a power ploy, if Andrea wasn’t the most guileless, puppy of a human being she’d ever met. It’s not until she turns to see Andrea enter does she see the framed poster for ‘The Apartment’ beside the door. Her heart, broken as it is, beats a little stronger at the sight.

“Well?” Andrea asks, depositing her computer on her desk and moving around the office, gathering this and that.  
“I got your letter.”  
“And…?”  
“I don’t know what I want, but it isn’t this, Andrea. Why didn’t you tell me about Christian?”  
“Christian?”  
“I saw the photos of you and…”  
“And rather than ask me, or trust me you just ice me out?”  
“I told you, I’m not good at this.”  
“At being a fucking human?”  
“Uncalled for.”  
“I don’t think so. You were acting like a jealous child, Miranda - one who doesn’t like to share their toys.”  
“You’re not a toy. And if any of us is acting like a child,” Miranda half-hearted feigns.  
“I am not, Miranda. I am tired of all of these comments about our age, or being a child. You either respect people, or you don’t - and you’ve shown you clearly don’t respect me. That’s fine - you don’t have to. But I do.”  
“That’s not true Andrea.” Miranda steps forward, but Andy steps aside, keeping the desk between them, wanting the distance to help keep her wits about her. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”  
“Would it have made a difference?”  
“I want to say yes.”  
“But you don’t want to lie.”  
“Let’s talk about this tonight?”  
“No.”  
“No?”  
“No, because I’m on my way to the airport.” She slips her computer in her backpack and grabs her suitcase from under her desk.  
“You're running away?”  
“Not everyone runs away Miranda. It’s my cousin Cecelia’s wedding, remember?” The blank look on her face answers back. “No, you don’t remember.”  
“Don’t be…silly Andrea, how can I remember something you never told me?”  
“Except I did. Twice. And showed you the dress and added it to your calendar like you told me.”  
“May I at least drive you to the airport?”  
“No.” Andy sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. “You can call me before you go to bed.”

Then Andrea does something surprising. She opens her eyes and instead of walking away, she walks over to Miranda and places a brief kiss on her lips. “I love you. Not the way you treat me, but I do love you.” She turns around and walks out, leaving Miranda in her office.


	14. Some People Never Say The Words ‘I Love You’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notes:  
> Indebted, once more, to Margaret Atwood for her poem 'Variation on the Word Sleep' (amongst many things).
> 
> 'Black card' is the colloquial term for the Amex Centurion card. 
> 
> This chapter contains some cussing & some sex... You've been warned on both accounts.
> 
> This is a massive chapter - one that I hope you all really enjoy.

* * *

  


Andy takes a deep breath of the California air. 

It’s hard to imagine ever leaving New York, but every time she visits the coast, she becomes just a little more tempted. There’s something about San Francisco - the blinding sun, the stinging wind, the scent of salt and eucalyptus - it all just soothes And without her even realising she needs soothing. She sits on the edge of the bandshell in Golden Gate Park, kicking her heels against the stage like she’s fifteen and in theatre class all over again, waiting for her family, having opted to come earlier to clear her head. She shouldn’t be feeling this glorious after the week she had (not to mention the utter lack of sleep) but here it is, in the delirious portion of the ‘delirious in love’ part.

* * *

When she arrived at her hotel the night before, she was greeted by her parents in the lobby and an enormous bouquet of beautiful white flowers in her room with a note: “I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping.” The line breaks are completely off but the intent is enough to make her heart strain inside her chest. Her parents, seeing her glow and blush, know better than to ask. They simply wished her good night and headed off to their room.

Andrea crawls into bed before she texts Miranda.

Andrea Sachs: Thank you. They’re beautiful.

Her phone rings almost instantly. 

“What are you still doing up, Miranda? It’s past midnight there.”  
“Thinking.”  
“Well stop it.”  
“You said I could call you. So I’m…” Her voice catches. “So I’m calling.”  
“Anything wrong?” Andrea asks.  
“No.” She pauses. “Can I see you?”  
“Sure.” Andy hangs up and FaceTimes Miranda back. “Hello you.” She greets her, her voice softening as she sees Miranda sitting up in bed, the room dimly lit from the bedside table. “You look beautiful.”  
“I have no make up on.”  
“And you have your cute little glasses.”  
“They’re not cute, Andrea, they’re elegant.”  
“And cute. How are you?”  
“I…miss you Andrea.”  
“I miss you too.”  
“I mean, all week.” She sighs. “May I tell you a secret Andrea?  
“Always.”  
“Hmmmm…” Miranda pauses for a moment as she looks off to the side, gathering strength. “I don’t know what I’m doing Andrea. With you. And I don’t like that.”  
“You always know what you’re doing.”  
“That’s not true - the secret is you just fool others into thinking you know. What is it you think we’re doing?”  
“Well, other than not sleeping?” Andy laughs, she thinks about it for a moment before continuing, a blush across her bare cheeks. “We’re…trying the best we can. Aren’t we?” Miranda wordlessly nods. “Good. I also know I won’t go through that again. That I won’t let you treat me like that again. Just because I can live without you doesn’t mean I want to.”  
“I'm not in the nature of giving people what they want Andrea, quite the opposite actually.”  
“Lie down Miranda.”  
“What?”  
“I miss lying down with you and talking in the dark.  So… You lie down, and I’ll lie down, and we’ll turn off the lights and…”  
“I won’t be able to see you.” Miranda grumbles as takes her glasses off carefully, leans the phone against something and lies down before turning off the lights.  “Now you.”  
“Now me.” Andy smiles at her as she snuggles into the bedding and switches off the lights.  “Was it easy?”  
“What?”  
“Cutting me off like that?”    
“Oh.”  Miranda is thankful that in the dark, Andrea can’t see the colour drain from her face.  “No.  It wasn’t.”  
“You acted like it was.”  
“The secret - fool others into thinking you know what you’re doing.”  
“You’re good at it.”  
“I’m the best.”  She joylessly chuckles.  “Andrea, every day I wait for you to do … what I thought you did.  Or leave.  Or just stumble out of the rose-coloured glasses."  
"Does it disappoint you when I don't?"  
"Yes." Miranda confesses. "Because it means it will be that much harder when you do it down the line."

Andrea doesn't know how to respond, what to say, so she says nothing. Waiting for Miranda to continue. 

"Well. That was uncomfortable to say. The least."  
"Miranda - I..." She takes a deep breath. Where does she go from there? "So you're afraid I'm going to leave you?"  
"Everyone does."  
"And you think if that day comes-"  
"When."  
"If that day comes, I wouldn't talk to you about it? Miranda, I talk about everything: what I had for lunch, whether or not to trim my bangs, if it's really 67 degrees or 68... Please believe me when I say I would talk to you about it. Whatever it may be."  
“I’m sorry, Andrea, if I treated you in a manner you didn’t like.  I’m sorry I missed your birthday.” She tries to change the topic, hoping it will alleviate the choking pressure in her chest waiting to burst forth.  
“Miranda - I don’t care about my birthday.  I care that you were condescending and hurtful and…you didn’t trust me.  I am sorry others hurt you, but I won’t ever hurt you, intentionally I mean.  Except for that one thing you like…”  
“Andrea, even in the dark, I see your grin.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”    
“Hmmmm.”  Andy murmurs in fake agreement.  

There’s a lull in the conversation. 

“Do you ever wish you could tell others?”  Andy finally asks.  
“I’m sure the girls know, and I suspect Nigel does.  That’s all I need for now, but then I’m a fairly private person.  Do you?”  
“Wish I could tell anyone?  Sure.”  
“Who?”  It’s not so much a question as it is a challenge.  Who is as important to Andrea as Miranda is.  
“Well, Doug knows - he’s the whole reason I didn’t join a convent or become a crazy cat lady.”  She laughs in the dark remembering his attempts at rescuing her.  “And well, my parents.  My sister will kill me for not telling her already.  And the girls - I’d like to tell them properly - I don't want it to weird them out any more that it needs to be."  She can feel the conversation getting heavier than intended.  “So, I need to come up with a decent cover story about the flowers.  My parents saw the big, stupid grin on my face and by now I’m sure -”  
“Andrea - what happens the the blush fades?  When will you realize -”    
“Realize what, Miranda?”  
“In a few short years, everything you see before you, everything I am will begin to wither and fade and soften and -”  
“Age cannot wither her, not custom stale her infinite variety.”  
“Thank you Antony.  I’m trying to be serious and you’re sprouting Shakespeare?”  
“Would you rather Romeo and Juliet? I’m pretty sure I can pull a few lines from the reaches of my memory.”  
“From that dreadful California version no doubt.”  
“Miranda - I love you.  I don’t love many people or many things -”  
“You love everyone and everything.”  
“But not like I love you.”  
“I don't like being scared. It takes a lot to scare me Andrea. And you did. You can't love me. You don't know enough about me. And if you learned.”  She laughs an empty laugh in the dark. “Say you love me one more time.”  
“I love you Miranda.” Andy’s voice is soft and sleepy, the travel and the release of talking to Miranda brings catches up to her.  
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow - goodnight…Dear.”  
“Goodnight, Love”  
“And…if you have a moment, I’d love to see you in your dress.”  
“Play your cards right and I might just show you something even better.”  Andy laughs before she hangs up.

* * *

It’s not until her parents are inches away from her face does she snap out of her trance that morning.  
“You know, Andy, at some point this weekend, we will get around asking about the identity of this man,” her mother teases, “So I suggest you give up and confess everything.”  
“Where’s the fun in that, Carol?” Her dad laughs, kissing her on the cheek.  “I, unlike your mother, am just happy to see you smiling.”  
“I’m with mom -” Her older sister Erin deadpans, hoisting her young son onto her hip.  “Andy can’t keep a secret to save her life.”  
“Aunt Andy has a boooyfriend.” Her nephew Evan sings, holding his arms out towards her.  
“How could I have a boyfriend, bud?” She asks, hopping from the stage and taking him from her sister.  “No boy comes close to you.” 

Together they head in to the museum.

It’s not often the Sachs’ family is together and they’ve decided to make the best of it before the bridal party preparations later that day.  Andy and her sister watch as their parents wander ahead of them, hand in hand their grandson.  “So, how are things?” Erin asks.  
“You know.” Andy shrugs, trying to hide her smile.  
“Except I don’t.  That’s why I’m asking.  You've fallen off the face of the earth since summer."  
"I have not!" Andy exclaims, knowing that she really and truly has.  
"Mom told me about the flowers.  She’s convinced it was from Nate.  I almost choked on my coffee.”  
“Definitely not Nate.”  
“Got it.”  She laughs.

They walk silently  through the rooms of the de Young.  Every room has something beautiful, something she wants to share with Miranda.  Something to make her want to grab the other woman’s hand and whisper how Sargent’s Madame X’s stateliness reminds her of the older woman.  How the light shimmers through and off the gowns of Irving Ramsey Wiles’ Sonata reminds her of the photo in Runway of that model in the Dior Haute Couture Grand Bal dress.  Of Pope’s Wild Swan, hanging stark, crisp and white against the forrest green door.  She snaps a few quick photos and sends them to Miranda - she knows the pictures will do the actual painting little to no justice, but she wants the other woman to know she’s thinking of her.  

“Sending those to definitely not Nate?”  
“Erin… It’s complicated.” She sighs.  
“When isn’t it complicated?”    
“This…is a little different.  But, as soon as I can, I promise, I’ll tell you.”  
“Why the secrecy?”  
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, trying to hide her grin at the buzz of her phone in her hand.  “I don’t want to jinx it? I don’t want it to get out just yet?”  
“I’m not ‘getting it out’, I’m your sister.”  Despite her best efforts, there’s the sound of pain in Erin’s voice.  “You used to tell me things.”  
“I know - but this isn’t just mine to tell.  And I’ll be honest, I don’t know if there’s much to tell other than I’m happy.”  
“Is it that bro-y guy you were on Page Six with?”  
“Did EVERYONE see that photo?”  
“Doug sent it to me.” Erin shrugged.    
“Of course he did.  It’s not.”  
“So, they’re either famous, or they’re a woman, or -” She snatches Andy’s phone from her hand and looks at the screen then up at her sister’s face, “Or…they’re a famous woman? Andy, what the…”  
“It’s not…what you think.  I think.”    
“I…Are you kidding me with this?”    
“Girls!”  Their dad calls, “Lunch?”  
“Coming.”  Andy replies, pleading with her eyes for her sister to return the phone.  “Erin…”  
“Whatever.”  Erin mutters, shoving the phone back before walking away.

For her part, Miranda was enjoying the photos Andrea was sending over - it helped her feel closer to the other woman in some small way.  Maybe one day they could go to the museums here?  It wouldn’t be odd, would it?  Being out in public.  Together.  Miranda saves the images on her phone then uploads them to the outline for next September’s issue.  Never too early to plan.  The texts stop abruptly though - and there’s no response to Miranda’s replies until a hushed call hours later.

“Hi.”    
“What’s wrong?” Miranda asks, shoo-ing the staff out of her office.    
“Nothing.”  
“Don’t lie to me.  You’re awful at it.”  
“Am not.”  
“Andrea.”  
“My…sister knows I think.”  
“I see.”  
“I’m so sorry.  It was an accident - she grabbed the phone from my hand -”  
“So it wasn’t an accident - it was malicious.”  
“No - she’s just… it’s what sisters do.”  
“Are you ok?”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“That’s not an answer.  Are you ok?”  
“She won’t talk to me.  She’s just… ignoring me.”  
“Why?”  
“I…don’t know.  Miranda, I’m tired.”  
“I know.”  
“No, I mean, I’m tired.  Exhausted.  All I want to do is come home and crawl onto the couch with you and sleep for forever.”  
“Can we wake up for coffee?”  Miranda murmurs, her fingers flying over her keyboard, ignoring Andrea's use of the word home.  
“Yes.  But only if we go back to bed directly after.”  
“I approve.”

A pause.

“What are you doing now?”  
“We’re getting our nails done.  I should go.  I’m already the outcast of the bridal party because I couldn’t make it out to the shower.”  
“Why not?”  
“Teachers Union Strike.”  
“That was a great story, by the way.  This new editor of yours isn't incompetent like the last one.”  
“She’s not bad.”  
“She? Hmmmm…” Miranda miffs.  “When’s the wedding?”  
“Tomorrow.  Ceremony at 11, Reception at 2.  I may not get to talk to you much tomorrow.”  
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“Aaaaannnndy!” Cecelia calls out from the other room, “Quit talking to your mystery man and come out already.”  

“Can I call you tonight?”  
“Always.”  
“…wish you were here. I love you.”  Andy says, her standard goodbye.  
“I … miss you.”  Miranda replies before hanging up.  One day she’ll be able to say the words back, but not today, over the phone like some sort of teenage boy.

* * *

The wedding is beautiful, at least what Andrea remembers of it.  She spends most of the time staring at her sister, or, to be honest, the back of her sister’s head.  Erin has spent the last 24 hours either avoiding her or ignoring her, much to the curiosity of everyone else. 

The Sachs sisters were always close - closer than expected given the three year age difference. Erin’s friends were Andy’s and vice versa and for the longest time, wherever one went, the other was sure to be around, which made the wedding uncomfortable to say the least. No matter what she did to get close to her sister, Erin would either walk away, or turn around and start speaking to another bridesmaid. Well, Andy sighed as she smiled through another set of wedding photos, it gave her the opportunity to get to know the others in bridal party… Except they all knew one another already. Maybe she should’ve let someone else take the Strike story but it just seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up. At least her partner’s nice - she thinks - and sober. Jason seemed to be one of the only groomsmen to not show up completely and utterly hungover from the night before. He even offers to take a photo of her to send to whoever if she’s into that sort of thing, he offers awkwardly but sweetly. She agrees and smiles awkwardly at the camera until he cracks a joke and elicits a real laugh from her, capturing that moment on her phone - she sends it to Miranda without expecting a response - something must be going on at Runway because she hasn’t replied all day. On the ride to the reception, she finds out he’s a middle school teacher in Akron - he goes on for the rest of the ride about how he loves it - being able to trick his kids into dropping their sullen facades and laughing. If she has to be stuck on the outside, she’s glad to be with him.

They arrive at the venue - a small rooftop restaurant in the Mission - wide vistas of the city and beautiful flowers everywhere greeted them. The guests started pouring in shortly after, and for a while, Andy was able to distract herself with family, family everywhere, all of them eager to ask when can they expect an invitation for her wedding, and what she’s doing in New York, and is she really that busy she couldn’t make it for Thanksgiving… And through every question, every subtle accusation she asks about their health and smiles brightly (aided in no small part by Jason and his wife bringing her new glasses of champagne). 

While the drinking helps take the edge off of missing Miranda (who still hasn’t texted), it does little to help take the edge off her loneliness at sharing a table with her sister, but not being able to talk to her. Instead, the Sachs sisters talk around one another, talking to their parents and Evan, but never to one another. They make it this way through appetizers (antipasto of summer melon), mains (five spice duck breast) before the speeches begin, giving them an excuse to pick at dessert and take a break from their passive aggression. They hear a sweet speech from Cecelia’s widowed father, a hysterical one from Pete’s mother. The best man screens a short sideshow of Cecelia and Pete’s courtship. 

Then it’s their turn… 

Andy groans internally - they haven’t had a chance to practice since they wrote it together last week via FaceTime - but it’s too late now, so puts on that smile once more and together the two sisters stand and make their way to the front of the room where they pull out their notes and begin. “Hi, for those of you who don’t know us, we’re Erin-”  
“And Andy”  
“Sachs. We’re Cecelia’s cousins.”  
“Growing up our oma would tell us ‘Man trifft sich zweimal im Leben’.”  
“For those of you who’s German is a little rusty, it mean you meet people twice in life.” 

They speak about how in their case, they each see in Cecelia, a second sister. They banter back and forth about sneaking an underage Andy into a concert one night by flirting with the bouncer, who turned out to be none other than Pete. They go on to cover the times that Pete looked out for them, took care of them, intimidated their bad boyfriends, got them backstage and most importantly, made Cecelia so incredibly happy. They end with, how in this case, you meet people twice in life means they get to meet Pete as a brother. 

And with that, the speeches are over and the dancing and dessert begins.

Cecelia and Pete invite everyone to join them on the dance floor for their first dance, freeing Andy to follow her sister to the bathroom. She waits a second, ignoring the buzzing of her phone, before going in after her. She leans against the door and waits for her sister to come out of the stall.  
“Creepy much?” Erin comments, noticing her sister waiting for her.  
“Eh.” Andy shrugs, “You haven’t really given me much of a choice.”  
“What do you want?” She asks as she washes her hands.  
“To know why you’re being a giant bitch would be a start?”  
“Me?”  
“Me?” Andy mimics, “Yes you! You find out about this thing and you like, go insane.”  
“This thing? You’re dating the Devil, Andy. The fucking Devil.”  
“Except she’s not… And, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you - I was going to when the time was right, and we weren’t in the middle of a family thing - but you know now and you’re acting like this.”  
“Aren’t you going to check that?” Erin asks, nodding to Andy’s phone, buzzing once more. “It might be her, mustn’t keep her waiting.”  
“First of all, no, because I’m talking to you, Second of all, it’s not like that. I would’ve told you about it eventually.”  
“Eventually? Really Andy - I thought we told each other everything, and then this…”  
“I’m sorry, are you angry that I didn’t come out sooner while you’re in the middle of freaking out about me not coming out?”  
“Is that what you’re doing? Is that what you think this is about?”  
“I DON’T KNOW!” Andy explodes, “YOU WON’T TELL ME!”  
“Andy, I don’t care about your newfound gayness - I mean, other than you didn’t tell me about it -”  
“I don’t even know if it’s gayness or-”  
“Not the point, no one cares. What I care about is that it’s with her! Is this like, a really fucked up version of Stockholm syndrome?”  
“Hi Aunt Ida!”  
“Hi Aunt Ida!” They murmur as they leave the room and continue the conversation around the corner. 

“Andy - this woman almost broke you once, she sucked out every ounce of you, and your happiness and left you this weird, shellshocked shelter dog we had bring back to life.”  
“I wasn’t that bad.”  
“Yes, yes you were. The fact that you don’t remember that is scary.”  
“I’m sorry, ‘rin, but I think you’re crossing over to crazy lady territory. If it’s the gay thing, that’s one thing but -”  
“Andy, you could ride the Georgia O’Keeffe float during the pride parade and I’ll be there if that’s what makes you happy. But her?! Her of all people?!” She bends down to pick up her son, running towards them. “Hey bud!”  
“Cecelia is gonna cut the cake! Cecelia’s gonna cut the cake!”  
“There’s cake?” Andy asks, “We gotta go get some before it’s all gone! I hope it’s chocolate!”  
“I hope it’s strawberry!”  
“Strawberry cake?!”

They make their way outdoors where Andy lets Evan and her sister move up ahead of her. How completely awful would it be if she snuck out (after cake of course)? Before she can pull out her phone to text Miranda to ask her this very question, she’s ambushed by her parents. “Oh, hi.”  
“Oh, hi.” Her dad teases. “Fancy meeting you here.”  
“Come here often?” Her mother offers.  
“What’s up?” Andy asks, praying for another flute of champagne, or a hole to swallow her to another dimension. She really should’ve listened to her horoscope that said this week would bring unforeseen challenges.  
“Not much, you?” Her mother asks.  
“Say, you wouldn’t want to talk about what you and your sister are fighting in the bathroom, do you?” Her dad asks pointedly.  
“I don’t know?” Andy offers weakly. “Did you ask Erin?”  
“We’re asking you.” Her mother responds.  
“I think they’re cutting the cake.”

An unamused look from her parents. 

“So…” Andy sighs and sits down at the closest table. There’s nothing like being confronted by your parents that makes you feel like a guilty 15 year old again, looking down at her hands fiddling with her phone she begins. “Erin stole my phone at the museum yesterday and she saw something she wasn’t supposed to see.” She looks up to the ashen faces of her parents. “Oh no! Nothing like… illegal or naked or anything. No!” She laughs at the relief on their faces. “But she saw…who sent the flowers and she got upset that I didn’t tell her.”  
“That’s it?” Her dad asks.  
“That’s it.” Andy shrugs. “She got upset I didn’t tell her first - but she didn’t give me the chance!” She half-whines.  
“Well…” Her mother begins. “We’re giving you the chance now. If it upset your sister, there’s probably a reason. She just wants what’s best for you.”  
“I-” Andy begins to reply but is cut off by her father.  
“Don’t pull this ‘I can’t believe you’re taking her side’ stuff.”  
“Fine.” She takes a breath and looks down at her phone - the screen lights up with M. Priestly iMessage (3) - and she can’t help but smile.  
“Is that him?” Her mother asks, taking the seat across from her daughter, nudging her husband to join them.  
“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath. “So, I didn’t tell Erin, or you guys because… well, when I do, you’ll see why it wasn’t just mine to tell. And yes, a large part of me knows you won’t approve but it's still new but it's not and I didn’t want to worry you if I don’t need to but it looks like now I need to and I don’t know how.”  
"Andrea, calm down and tell us. What's not to approve?” Her mother asks, calmly rubbing the back of her daughter’s hand. “If he loves you, and he treats you as you deserve to be treated and respects and supports you then..."  
“Well, first off, it's not a he..."  
"Oh." Her hand stills.  
“Ok.” Her dad begins, processing, placing a hand on his wife’s knee. “Ok. Well, does this... Woman... Have you been seeing a lot of her?"  
"Yeah, in fact, I've mentioned her a few times -"  
"Lily? Or Emily?” Her mother asks. “She’s not married, is she Andrea?!”  
“No, mom! No! Why are you guys thinking I’m like, sending naked photos to married women?” She whispers loudly. She pulls her hand out from under her mother’s and checks her texts:

M. Priestly: The speech was beautiful.

What?

M. Priestly: So are you in that dress.

M. Priestly: Are those your parents?

What?

She looks around frantically to prove to herself that Miranda wasn’t there…except seated at the bar, was a familiar figure, with a shock of platinum hair sipping what looked suspiciously like Laphroaig. 

“Miranda!”  
"Miranda Priestly?!" Her mother chokes out. "You've been seeing Miranda Priestly?"  
"Yes but - I'll be right back.”

She rises from the table towards the woman at the bar, leaving her parents horrified and confused. “Miranda? How? What?” She wants nothing more than to collapse in the other woman’s arms, kiss her, shout her happiness at seeing her, but settles for taking her hand in hers. 

It feels…so good.

"I didn't want to intrude,” Miranda begins, squeezing Andrea’s hand tightly, conveying what little she could in here in public. “But I was lying in bed last night-"  
"Alone I hope?"  
"Very much alone, and it occurred to me that it has been entirely too hot and sunny this fall in Manhattan and what I really wanted, what I really missed…was some…fog.”  
"Fog?" Andrea smirks, stepping closer to Miranda, feeling the warmth off her body.  
"Yes, and you know me, I always get what I want."  
"That you do."  
"And I figured once I was here I would look in on you, see if you were free..."  
"How did you find me?"  
"You shared your calendar with Caroline… Why are you smiling at me like that?!"  
"Because all night long I just wanted you here and everyone keeps asking me when I'm getting married and all I want to do is tell them about the woman I'm madly in love with and I begin to tell my parents and look up and here you are..."  
"Here I am."  
"I would very much like to kiss you."  
"Since when have I ever been able to stop you from doing anything that enters that pretty head of yours?"  
"Never?"  
Miranda smirks as Andy leans in and places a chaste but warm kiss to her lips. "Before we take this further dearest, I should inform you that two people I suspect are your parents are ..."  
"Right..." Andy grids herself, then after a second, take the glass from Miranda’s hand and finishes it off for her. “I’m warning you, I’m going to have a hangover tomorrow.” She grimaces before she turns around and begins to lead Miranda to her parent's table, hand in firm hand. She doesn't know if she could do this - "Maybe we can make a run for it?" Andy mutters, stopping short.  
"I worry for you in those heels, Dear.”  
"Right."  
"Besides," Miranda leans in and whispers into the brunette's ear, "The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave and the sooner I may confess to you that I am very much in love with you."  
"Miranda?" Andy turns around, her heart swelling and her stomach dropping. "I won't ask 'really' because I know how much you hate it but-"  
“Walk." She commands, changing the topic.

They continue the trek to the table where Mr. & Mrs. Sachs rise to greet her. “Mom, dad - this is my... This is Miranda."  
"Mrs. Priestly -”  
"Please call me Miranda - everyone does.” She is thankful for their Midwestern bourgeois politeness.  
"We've heard a lot about you Miranda," Andy’s father begins.  
"Harold!"  
"Dad!"  
"None good I presume?" Miranda's eyebrow cocks as she fights a smirk. "I appreciate the honesty."  
"No sense in beating around the bush.” He admits.  
"That's always been my philosophy.” She agrees. “Though I would suggest that tonight isn’t the time or place.”  
“Tomorrow then.” It’s not a question.  
“Brunch.” Miranda counters. “If there’s one thing this city is good for - and there are very few things - it’s brunch.”  
“We are looking forward to it.” He chokes out.  
“Dad, I think we’re going to leave.” Andy admits, seeing Erin’s shocked expression from across the room where she’s dancing with her son. “I’m going to say goodbye.” She squeezes Miranda’s hand before letting go.  
“I’ll be downstairs.” Miranda nods, understanding. “It was nice to meet you.” She lies before she turns around and heads downstairs, thankful that no one there likely knows who she was, although she wasn’t too sure about the bartender who stumbled on himself handing her back her black card.

The car ride back to the hotel is short and quiet. 

Andrea falls asleep almost immediately, her head on Miranda’s shoulder. 

It..shouldn’t feel this good to be with Andrea, but it does. Miranda sighs, looking out the window at the city passing by. She loves this woman. She said as much by flying across the country unannounced because Andrea wanted to see her. Loving this woman is dangerous - it makes her liable to do…anything Andrea wants her to do - and she prays to a god she isn’t sure she believes in that Andrea never finds out.

The car pulls to a silent stop and the car door opens. “Andrea, we’re here.” She whispers, nudging the younger woman awake.  
“Mmmmkay.” She murmurs, prying her eyes open. “You’re here.”  
“I’m here.”  
“And we’re here.”  
“We are. Up you get.” She nudges her towards the open car door and watches Andrea all but stumble out. She really has the grace of an awkward elephant in those heels.  
“One day you’re going to have to teach me how to walk in these.” Andrea mutters, watching Miranda’s slim figure rise from the car elegantly.  
“I’m good, but not a miracle worker.” She smirks as they walk in to the hotel. 

The hotel is a hive, buzzing with people during cocktail hour - although in San Francisco, cocktail hour stretches for days at a time. The elevator is half full as Andy pushes the button for her floor and Miranda pushes the penthouse level. From her purse she pulls out the copy of her room keycard and hands it to the younger woman before she gets off on her floor. 

More and more people get off - no one taking notice of her - until she’s alone on the ascent up to the top floor where she gets off the silent elevator and into the silent hall. With shaking hands, she manages to open the door and enter the suite. It’s large and lavish and she doesn’t notice any of it as she drops her purse off on the desk and walks to the vanity where she removes her earrings and plugs in her phone. 

She sits on the edge of the bed, then almost as soon, rises back up. 

She paces restlessly.

She mixes a drink at the wet bar and pours a large glass of water for Andrea and takes them to the wall-to-wall windows. She remembers when money used to buy windows that opened. When balconies weren’t a suicide risk. She takes a sip of her drink and doesn’t wince at the strong taste. She’s waiting for Andrea and then they’re going to make love. She takes a deep breath and repeats it back to herself as she looks out at the city lit up like stars in the night sky - she’s waiting for her Andrea and then they’re going to make love. This was not at all how she expected her life to turn out, and yet, it has. For all of her meticulous planning and preparation and hard work - she’s still here. She won’t lie and say she wouldn’t have it any other way - she would. But she’s here and there’s no way out of being in love with this woman - as hapless and as horribly matched as they are - so she will go with it as long as it lasts. 

She hears Andrea enter the room, sees her in the reflection as she locks the door behind her, drop off her overnight bag, turn off the lights and makes her way to Miranda, almost glowing in the dark like Sargent’s Madame X. “You’re here.” Andy speaks softly, wrapping her arms around Miranda from behind.  
“And so are you.” Miranda murmurs.  
“I was half-sure I imagined you.” She kisses Miranda’s neck, pressing their bodies together. “Thank you. You don’t know how…” She sighs in joy. “You’re here.”  
“I have some water for you.” Miranda nods to the direction of the waiting glass. “I think I’ll get the hang of domesticity yet.”  
“Don’t. Then you’ll have no use for me.”  
“I doubt that very much.” She downs the last of her drink and sets the empty glass down before turning around in Andrea’s arms. From here she can see how tired the other woman is - stress and sleeplessness have etched more lines on her face then they should, and a large part of them are due to her. “I’m sorry.”  
“For?” Andrea smiles earnestly and waits.

Miranda wants to tell her she’s sorry for loving her, sorry for all the pain that she will continue to cause. She can’t though. She can only look into those eyes, those full lips - she can only feel the warmth of their bodies. She brings their mouths together. Whether it’s their absence from one another, their abstinence, their exhaustion, their emotions - their lovemaking takes on a very different quality - aggressive, almost animalistic. Warm bodies are pressed against the cool glass, dresses are gathered at the waist, teeth are bared against skin, nails are scratched down backs. Miranda can’t get enough of Andrea like this - her lips tasting of her Laphroaig, her arms around Miranda’s neck. The angle hurts - it seems like it’s always about the angle - but she ignores the pain as she slides her fingers into Andrea. It’s worth every ounce of pain, every sleepless night, the heart fall of every text that’s not her to hear the incoherent sounds coming from her lover. The sounds that she’s causing. She watches intently as her Andrea’s face contorts with every move and thrust of her hand, eyes closed, head back against the glass. 

It’s not pretty - but it’s beautiful. 

She can feel Andrea shaking - she always shakes at the edge of climax - and she orders her to open her eyes. “Look at me, Andrea.” She commands, watching her lover wrench her eyes open. “I love you.” A twist of her hand just so. “Never forget this moment. No matter what happens.” Another twist. Andrea can’t speak - the sounds coming from her mouth at this point are guttural sounds. A light thrust. That’s all it takes to push her over the edge. Her body goes rigid as she clings tightly to Miranda. There’s no thought, no words other than Miranda’s whispers in her ear. “I love you.”


	15. Spins So Fast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the original chapter was near posting... and then the Paris events happened and I felt it best to scrap it as something similar was referenced at the end of the chapter. This is a work of fiction and has no place in pulling from the pain of others for it.
> 
> As I pivot and rework what I need to, please accept this small - chapterlette.
> 
> * * *

“Miranda?” Andrea whispers into the dark.

She lies on her stomach, facing the window. Despite the stillness of the night, she knows time is passing faster than she’d like - the moon isn’t where she last left it. Miranda murmurs beside her, shifting, throwing an arm around her waist. There is a possessiveness in a sleeping Miranda that Andrea has come to love. 

“Miranda?” She repeats. “What do we call each other?”  
“Now, you want to talk about this now, Andrea?”  
“Did you want to talk about it at lunch?” She teases.  
“I refuse to be introduced as something as juvenile as your ‘girlfriend’.” She all but shudders at the word as she tries to get herself comfortable.  
“What about lover?” Andrea teases, clambering to straddle Miranda. Even in the dark, her brown eyes sparkle at the thought. “This my Lover-”  
“Capital L?”  
“Yes, this is my Capital L Lover Miranda Priestly.” She laughs, wide and open and deeply.  
“Andrea - I’m exhausted and to be honest, I don’t care what you call me as long as-” She can’t bring herself to say the words. She doesn't know why. It shouldn’t be. Saying the words to Andrea should be easy now, after her declaration of love earlier. But now, with Andrea staring down at her, her doe eyes shining brightly, looking like some sort of Greek goddess brought to life - she feels foolish… She very much feels every year of their 24 year age difference - and looks it, she thinks to herself, glancing at their nude bodies. She shuts her mouth and sets her jaw.  
“What?” Andrea smiles down, “As long as…what?”  
“I don’t know, Andrea. I’m tired.” She cringes internally at using that word - of course she’s more tired than Andrea… She should be thankful she didn’t break a hip earlier, she supposes, trying to turn over beneath the other woman’s body. How long before Andrea understood, before she realised all this for herself. Maybe the girl wasn’t as smart as she gave her credit for.  
“Miranda.” The other woman commands softly, shifting to get back into Miranda’s sight. “I am yours, Miranda.”

How does she always know?

“I am yours, heart and mind and body. For as long as you’ll have me.” And she smiles down - so beatifically that Miranda hates her for it. How can she say that? “For as long as you listen to me. And be here with me. And not what little voice you hear because, Miranda, I hear them too. You’re not the only one, I promise, afraid of where this is going. Ok?”  
“What if…” Miranda begins, her voice catching in her throat, “What if I don’t see myself ever letting you go?”  
“Well then,” Andrea shrugs, rolling off to the other woman’s side, “Then there we’ll be I suppose.” She takes the older woman’s face in hands and places a soft kiss on her lips. “You can’t shut me out though, when the thoughts start. Because one day I won’t know the right thing to say, or to do. I’ll need your help.”  
“And what will you do - when the thoughts start?”  
“I don’t know. We’ll talk about them. Or we won’t.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “We’ll figure it out. Ok?” Andy spoons herself against Miranda, letting the skin on skin calm down her own racing heart. She relaxes even more as she feels Miranda’s arms wrap gingerly around her. “Andrea?” She hears whispered into her ear.  
“Mmmmmm?”  
“As you are mine… I…” A breathe. “I am yours.”  
“Oh Miranda.” Andrea sighs as their bodies begin to move once more in sleepy unison.


	16. Miriam Princhek and Pandy

  


There were a number of reasons Miranda didn’t want to pull the covers off her head. The sun was incredibly bright here - garish, really (one of the many reasons she’d always loathed this city, and California in general). Then there was the fact that she was incredibly comfortable, nestled in the bed, warmed by Andrea who was close enough to touch, but not close enough to smother her. She couldn’t handle being smothered - in bed or in life. 

Then there was Andrea’s parents. 

She was entirely too old to be dealing with nonsense like this. 

Greg’s mother Susan grew up in the height of the free-love craze but was pleasant enough as they forged forth a relationship. Stephen’s mother was dead. Any other paramours didn’t rate enough to require the formal meeting of the parents. At this stage of her life, she should be the one boys dreaded meeting, not…this. She turns her head and is surprised to see Andrea, her Andrea has been watching her. “Good morning.” She opens her arm and her lover squirms her way over, nestling against her. “You’re up early.”  
“Not early - still on east coast time. Besides,” She mumbles, pressing her face into Miranda’s shoulder, “Your worrying woke me up.”  
“And what do you think I’m worrying about?”  
“Meeting my parents?”  
“I met them last night. They seemed perfectly adequate.”  
“High praise.”  
“Well I didn’t get their whole life story, Andrea. Did you want me to shower them with false praise without knowing anything about them?”  
“I just want you to relax and give them a chance.”

No response.

“You don’t talk about your parents Miranda.”

No response.

“I don’t have any.”  
“We all have parents.”  
“Not Miranda Priestly.” She takes a steady breath. One to fight the urge to push the other woman out of the bed, out of her life. Another steady breath. In and then out. She is here, in a comfortable enough bed, with a woman whom she has come to love curled at her side. She is not in the shtetls of Spitalfields - not any more.  
“Where are you Miranda?” She can hear Andrea ask her, from far away. She won’t cry - she has no reason to cry. She did what she always said she would do.  
“I suppose you know, having done your research, that my birth name isn’t Miranda.” She announces, blinking.  
“I… yes.” Andrea answers, uncertain of where this is going, but letting the other woman take the lead. They’re on such unknown territory - they’ve never spoken of their histories. It’s never really mattered to them before. While they are the outcome of their pasts, they have focused on the current moment, and on the odd occasion, the future.  
“It was Miriam, can you imagine going through life with such a name? Miriam Princhek?”  
“It means strong. I think it served you well.” Andrea answers cautiously. She won’t press, if Miranda wants to tell her more, she will. But this is already more than she’s ever said about herself.  
“Well.” She dismisses the conversation and looks down at the woman against her shoulder. She looks upon Andrea as if seeing her for the first time in a long while. “Andrea - do you see yourself getting married?”  
“Wow - good morning Miranda!” She laughs, trying to lighten the mood. “To you or in general?”  
“Either.”  
“I don’t know. It’s never been important to me, you know?” She shrugs, despite knowing how much Miranda hates it. “I guess I’ve always just wanted someone to love. Loving them, and being loved back always seemed more important than being married, especially after Nate.”  
“And now?”  
“Now what?”  
“Now that you are loved?”  
“It’s childish, but I want to keep being loved and to keep loving you for as long as it lasts.” Andrea stretches up and kisses Miranda.

Yet another reason for not to want to get out of bed.

* * *

For as long as she lives, she vows, she will never, ever forgive Andrea for this. Miranda fumes as she exits the taxi and makes her way into the restaurant. 

After their morning conversation turned into something more languid and lavish, they were late. Exceptionally so. They were in fact, so late that she had put Andrea in the car and sent her down to the restaurant, promising to follow behind shortly when she was ready. Now she has to walk in late, fully aware that Andrea’s parents were fully aware why she was late. She enters the front doors and is taken back in time. While she wouldn’t say she loves the restaurant, she does approve of it. It feels very much like a little piece of New York, of history, managed to outlast them all and survive as it was was and always will be. She steels herself as she spots their table, towards the back wall, and makes her way over, shoulders back and chin up. They’re all talking - back and forth as if this were perfectly natural - but the way Andrea was bouncing her nephew on her knee as she chewed on her lower lip suggests her lover is as nervous as she is. This fact reassures her, as awful as it is - at least she’s not the only one made uncomfortable. Miranda silently joins them, bending to place a light kiss on Andrea’s cheek before seating herself beside Andrea. She smiles, half at the glass of Glenlivet ready for her, and half to Andrea placing a hand on her lap. “Sorry for my lateness.” She apologies. It’s been a while since she had to apologise to others. She can’t say she cares for it. The words are bitter.  
“We were surprised Andrea made it on time, considering she wasn’t in her room this morning. Where were you Andy?”  
“Oh my god, Mom!”  
“Did you have sleepover?” Evan asks, “Can I come next time!”  
“I’m officially mortified.” Andy grimaces as Miranda takes an inelegant swig of her drink.  
“I’m not!” Erin chokes out through her laughter, “I’m deligh-owwwwww!”  
“Andy - don’t kick your sister.” Her mother chastises. 

Over the rim of their glasses, Andrea’s father and Miranda catch each other’s eye and there’s a moment - not quite of understanding, but at least of acknowledgement. There was a world that they may never understand, the world of the Sachs women - their shorthand and their habits and their rhythms. 

“I can’t believe you’re grown and you’re acting like this in public!” Carol Sachs groans, “Especially in front of guests.”  
“She’s not a guest mom, she’s - Miranda.”  
“Give it up, Andy - Mom still calls Phil a guest and it’s been 10 years!” Erin teases.  
“If she’s not a guest, Andy, what is she?” Evan asks, watching Miranda with a quiet, distrustful gaze. Miranda raises an eyebrow and is reminded why she doesn’t like children.  
“She’s someone I love very much, bud.” 

Thankfully, their waiter arrives at that moment, breaking the tension as they go around the table to order. 

“So.” Erin begins, “Tell us all about it.” 

Miranda says a silent prayer that she never has to see this woman again. She also wonders if this is what all sisters are like, the banter and the casual cruelty between them so similar to Caroline and Cassidy. 

“Not much to tell,” Andy smiles, “We kept running into each other and it just sort of happened.”  
“It didn’t ‘just happen’, I distinctly recall a lot more effort being put into it.”  
“I have no idea what you’re referring to. I wonder where our drinks are.”  
“Eleven Madison.”  
“That was the girls.”  
“What’s Eleven Madison?” Carol asks, interrupting the enigmatic dialogue, curious at this glimpse of her daughter’s life. When Andrea was younger, she used to share everything, no matter how mundane. She hadn’t realized how much things had changed until this trip to San Francisco.  
“It was this restaurant - and I was TRICKED into going.”  
“As was I. You act like I was the mastermind of that particular evening.” Miranda grins. “I’ve been nothing but a helpless pawn in your games.”  
“Helpless pawn?”  
“The Apartment.”  
“Yes, well, that was…I had help from Doug, and his secret mystery man.”  
“Are you two speaking English?” Evan asks.  
“Sorry buddy, we are. For our first date, I took Miranda to see a movie in the park.”  
“That wasn’t our first date.”  
“I’m pretty sure it was.”  
“And I’m certain it was not.”  
“Miranda - who was the cover model of Vogue of April 1987?”  
“British or American?”  
“British.”  
“Cindy Crawford in a pink de la Renta, which, when contrasted with the American cover featuring Paulina Porizkova in this garish fuchsia was a wonder. Anna Wintour was not without skill, at least before she got lazy.”  
“So, you can index every model and designer on both sides of the Atlantic, but you can’t recall our first date? Should I be offended?”  
“Not at all - I’m the one who should be offended - Central Park, as lovely as it was, wasn’t our first date.”  
“It wasn’t?”  
“No - our first date was earlier than that. Significantly low key. You wore black pants and an ecru blouse that stayed surprisingly clean, despite the tomato sauce…and an apron.” If blushing was a thing Miranda Priestly did, she would have, overcome by the surprisingly tender memory. Except blushing wasn’t a thing that Miranda Priestly did in front of others. Or ever. 

The meals began to arrive and a general lull fell over the table as the family quietly bantered back and forth, but there was a heaviness amongst them, as if they are waiting for something.

Miranda took a sip. Clearly, she was going to have be the one to begin. “Now seems as a good a time as any. You object to the relationship between Andrea and I.” It’s not a question, but a statement. There’s little point in avoiding it. Miranda lifts a small piece of steak to her lips and begins to chews it - twenty chews, no more and no less. “You must understand our hesitation Ms. Priestly.” Carol Sachs replies.  
“Miranda.” Andy corrects.  
“You have children, from what Andy says. Not much younger than Andy.”  
“Mom!”  
“Carol!”  
“Twin girls significantly younger than Andrea. Your concern is my age?”  
“Amongst others, yes.”  
“Can I interrupt?” Andy interjects, trying to derail the conversation.  
“In a moment.” Miranda hooks her ankle through Andy’s leg, a small touch to comfort each of them, to signal that she isn’t freezing Andrea out completely from this conversation. “Your concern is just my age? Or, if we’re being honest, is it more? Is it my gender, my children, my reputation and my past relationships?”  
“Maybe this isn’t the best -”  
“No, this is the best place and time for it.”  
“Yes - then. All of those.”  
“Good. I’d have worried if you said no, hiding behind some sort of false liberalism.” She motions to a passing waiter for another drink. “Everything you are concerned about is valid.”  
“Miranda!” Andy exclaims.  
“I’m sorry Andrea, but it’s true. It may not have crossed your mind but I have given all of that great thought before we began. In addition to that, I’ve had to think about how this will impact your career. Your future. Your desire for children. Ageing.” She sighs as if bored, but Andrea can feel her tighten her grip on her ankle. “The fact is, I know it doesn’t make it easier for you to know you are not the only ones who have had these concerns - they’re all the ones I’ve thought of, and I’d have worried about myself if one of my children came home with … well, someone of my reputation. But, you have raised an intelligent woman, headstrong and stubborn. A woman who could charm the birds out of the trees and dragons from their dens.” She can’t help but feel Andrea’s gaze turn on her - but for once she can't feel the intention, the purpose. “Andrea is a woman who knows what she wants - I count myself fortunate to be who and what she wants for the time being. If she wakes up tomorrow and wants to be a pastry chef, or run away to Fiji with Daniel Radcliffe, then I would be heartbroken, but thankful for the time we shared. I won’t apologise to you or her for my past actions, because I don’t believe they need apologising for - I was acting in the best interest of Runway - that’s my job, that’s who and what I am. As for my children, they adore her. They are the ones who brought Andrea back into my life and for that, I am thankful. As for my reputation, well, Andrea’s more than held her own.” She tries not to smirk to the woman beaming at her side as she takes a sip of her drink. “Anything else?”

Silence.

“Well then. What are your plans for the remainder of your time here?”

And with that, conversation, however stilted, begins again and continues through lunch through to the arrival of dessert when Miranda’s phone buzzes. She glances at it - her phone is set to privacy - only a handful of people would be able to get through. Clearly it’s important. “Excuse me.” She rises and slips towards the bar. “Grüetzi Klaus.” Andrea watches as she sits herself at the bar. Her back is ramrod stiff and Andrea knows something is wrong. The conversation around her fades away as she pushes her chocolate cake towards Evan with a smile before moving towards Miranda. “After that Veronica - I’ll need two red eye directs to Heathrow. Emirates if possible. Then go home, pack enough for 3 weeks. Go to my house or the Closet, and pack the same. Two suites at the Taj.” She holds out her hand for Andrea to take, which she does, without any other reason than Miranda requested it. “Work with Rosalind’s assistant - I want everything that’s to be reviewed at tomorrow’s staff in my room by tonight. I don’t want any word of this to be leaked - impress that upon him in whatever manner you see fit. Do you have all of that? Good. What was that?” She takes her phone from her face and looks at it. “Was that my ticket back? You may actually survive this trip if you continue at this pace.” And with that, she hangs up and sighs.  
“Sounds important.” Andrea begins.  
“I have to leave.” Miranda pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry - I really am.”  
“Can’t you leave tomorrow?”  
“I have to be in London by 8a.”  
“London.”  
“Was that not in English?” She sighs. She’s been doing that too much. “I… I am sorry Andrea.” The bartender slides her the bill and her credit card. “I’ve already paid for lunch -”  
“You didn’t have to.”  
“I know Andrea, but I wanted to. I have to leave.” She sees her car pull out in front of the restaurant. “I hate to say it, but Veronica is a much better assistant than you or Emily ever were.”  
“Well, I’d better be a much better girlfriend than she is.” Andrea replies, her words more jovial than she feels.  
“You’re more than that.” She murmurs. “I take it you can’t meet me at the hotel? It seems young Sir is busy eating not one, but two chocolate cakes.”  
“When do you leave?”  
“I have to be at SFO in ninety minutes.”  
“That doesn’t leave us much time. Aren’t you even going to tell me what’s going on?”  
“A friend is ill.”  
“That’s it? A friend is ill, so you’re running off to London to what, Miranda, make them soup?” She’s livid. Going from that earlier defence of their relationship to running off 5000 miles away.  
“I won’t explain Andrea - I had hoped you knew me better than that.”  
“Well I don’t Miranda, so help me understand.” She pleads, her eyes almost begging, not to be left alone in front of her family like this, not after last night. There’s nothing more than a wall of ice falling between them.  
“I need to leave.”

So she does. Gliding past Andrea towards the waiting car outside.

Squaring her shoulders back, Andy takes a deep breath before she returns to the table - she takes all her thoughts about this familiar, heart heavy feeling from long ago and buries it deep down until she can safely unpack them. “You did a great job bud!” She says enthusiastically to Evan.  
“Everything alright?” Her sister asks, trying to wipe up her son’s face.  
“Emergency. She has to leave.”  
“Right now?”  
“She has to be in London by morning.” She shrugs, hoping she’s holding her disappointment in together. “So, what’s next?”

* * *

They end up back to at the hotel after after they realise Carol’s forgotten her medication. It feels weird being in Miranda’s hotel suite without her. All signs of last night, this morning have been erased, as if it didn’t happen. Andy rifles through her suitcase for a sweater as Evan runs around and her sister plops herself on the bed. “Nice bed…very comfortable.” She teases, trying to get Andy out of her funk. “Andy…Andy pandy…” She pats the bed beside her. “Come on…”  
“Mom and dad are waiting downstairs.”  
“Let ‘em wait. Grab a seat.”  
“I don’t want to.”  
“So you’re going to sulk? I’m trying to say I’m sorry - I’ve said it exactly three times in my life, Sunshine, so you’d better get it while the getting is good.”  
“We should go down.” Whatever it is, she’s not in the mood for apologies or being cheered up.  
“Really? Ok.” Erin shrugs. “Guess I won’t give you this envelope than. Come on honey,” She calls out, “Time to go.”  
“Gimmie!” Andrea perks up, trying to wrestle the envelope from her sister on the bed.  
“This?” Erin holds up, before tucking it under her pillow, keeping it away from Andrea. “Nope.”  
“Errrrrrin!”  
“Paaaaaaandy.” She taps the bed beside her.  
“Ugh! Fine!” She flops beside her. “Now can I have it?”  
“You aren’t going to make me grovel for the chance to apologise, are you?”  
“Yes, yes I am.”  
“Fine, I’m sorry about … Miranda.”  
“What about Miranda?”  
“Damn.” She laughs, “Fine, I’m sorry I reacted like I did to the news. It’s just, you know, I tell you everything and so did you. Before anyways. And there’s this whole huge part that you didn’t.”  
“I couldn’t. It would…I mean, no one knows.”  
“I’m not ‘no one’ Andy.”

And there it is. The real reason she was so upset.

“No, you’re not.” Andy admits.  
“Here.” Erin hands over the envelope, her name on it in Miranda’s crisp script. It wasn’t the hotel stationary - did she travel with her own paper goods? She can’t help but laugh, of course she did. “Pandy, you haven’t even opened the letter.”  
“It’s just…” She grins, “Who travels with their own stationary?”  
“Oh lord.” Erin rolls her eyes, “I haven’t seen you this moony since Bobby McLaughlin.”  
“Bobby McLaughlin?! How did you even remember him?”  
“How could I not?!”  
“Erin - I think this is worse than Bobby McLaughlin.”  
“Oh Pandy…” Erin sighs, rising from the bed as she watches her sister tear open the envelope like it was a Christmas gift. “I hope she’s worth it.” Judging from the smile that spreads across from Andy’s face, she may very well be. “Alright little man, time to meet Grandma and grandpa downstairs!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience as I churned this chapter out. 
> 
> If you want to know the truth, the whole story is meticulously noted and plotted, but some chapters just don't flow from notes to words... I'm working on my New Years resolution to finish what I start, and I think part of that means accepting some chapters just won't be as strong as I'd like... Anyways, thanks for all your patience and your kind words and reviews <3.


	17. Here's Where It Ends

Hi all - 

So when I started this story ages and ages and ages ago, I didn’t think it would be this massive, sprawling story.  It was just supposed to be a cute-meet of Andy and Miranda at a point in their lives when they’d have been in a place where they could truly be the partner that the other needed.  It was supposed to be a handful of chapters written over a few months to help me get out of a life slump I was in.  It was supposed to be an exercise in Neil Gaiman’s advice to finish what you start.  It was supposed to be short and sweet.  Somehow the story didn’t get what it was supposed to be and it took on a life of its own.  

So it’s with a heavy heart I write that for the foreseeable future, I will not be finishing it. Somehow along the way, I found my love of writing again (one that I thought school and depression had stolen from me) and I’ve been working fairly hard on my own/original writing.  The older I get, the more I’m learning we have to be selfish at times.  We have to protect ourselves.  I only have so much time and so much energy, and if I’m ever going to try to make it as a writer, I’ll need to focus on the writing that may have a shot.  Not to say I’ll never write fic again, but for the last year or so, there’s this incredible sense of guilt whenever I write anything (original or not) because there’s a little voice that says I should finish this.  Every time I type up anything up, there’s this guilt that I’m letting you down and I never wanted to do that.

I’ve never written a story that so many people have enjoyed.  Even two years after I’ve started, there’s new readers who ask me when the next update is coming and I’m incredibly awed and honoured by your attention and comments.  Thank you.  You’ll never, ever know what your words have meant to me.  

But - this isn’t all bad news - the end of the story was more-or-less plotted and I will be posting that, a chapter-by-chapter breakdown that should bring the story to a close.  It’s not ideal, but it’s something that I wanted to share in case any of you’d be interested.  

 

<3

  

* * *

 

 

**Chapter Seventeen: Hurry Home to You**

 

_Every morning that Andy wakes in Miranda’s bed, in Miranda’s house, without Miranda is turn to the bedside table where she’s propped up the note of Miranda’s - black ink on stiff, white stationary declaring clearly:_

_I should very much like if you were waiting at home when I get back._

_It was hand delivered in an envelope with her key to the house.  That night, when Miranda facetimed her, she was upset to see Andrea still in her apartment instead of her house.  There was some banter about it being so difficult to find good help who could read between the lines and take simple direction, but before they got off the line, Miranda became serious for a moment, saying she would feel better if Andrea were to stay at the house if she could.  This wasn’t how she intended to get the key to her, or ask her, but it seems this was how it played out._

Andy’s in the shower one morning in the townhouse and Miranda walks in, terrifying her.  She runs into her arms, not caring about ruining her travel clothes or getting the other woman wet.  She insists on helping Miranda in the shower.

M: I'm not an invalid, I can shower on my own

A: I know you can, but I missed you and would like if you could indulge me with letting me be near you. Also you look like you're going to pass out

Andy leaves her with a few minutes of privacy and when Miranda steps out in her bathrobe, she hears Andrea on the phone calling out sick.  Miranda tries to pull out her laptop, but Andy navigates Miranda into bed.  Miranda apologises, saying she’s too exhausted for anything more than sleep and Andy says it’s ok as Miranda falls asleep.

She wakes up several hours later to Andy in the kitchen - Andy confesses she gave her housekeeper a few days off as she felt weird having her around without Miranda who scoffs, then teases if that’s the case, Andy’ll have to do the dinner dishes.  

 

 

**Chapter Eighteen**

 

Thanksgiving in New York.  It’s meant to be a small gathering, Caroline, Cassidy, Nigel and Doug but during planning, Miranda wants to cater or go out while Andy wants to cook.  Miranda doesn’t understand why it’s so important to Andy to be able to cook, to make something and Andy admits for her it’s a sign of love, of giving something of ones self.  Finally, Miranda gives in but warns her domestic skills begin and end at setting the table.

The day of:

A: I should, I don’t know, talk to the girls or something, shouldn’t I?

M: Why? What would it matter if they approve or not?  Would you stop seeing me?

A: No, would you?

M: Not at all.  They are grown ups, as am I, and as are you.  I do not ask my children’s permission Andrea, to be happy, I only ask them to support my happiness.

A: Are you happy?  Do I make you happy? (Patented Miranda gaze) It’s just, you’ve never said what it is you see when you see me.  

 The girls show up to the townhouse and from the stoop can hear them getting ready.  It begins to dawn on them.   

During dinner, there’s no official announcement, but there’s the holding of hands and an understanding amongst them all.  

 

 

**Chapter Nineteen**

 

Christmas is a quiet affair, the girls at their Father’s… They spend it in lounge clothes, warm socks, stringing popcorn and eating it, watching The Apartment and watching the snow fall… That night they go up Miranda’s roof and make snowmen.  She thought it would be odd - and it was - that's what made it so easy. It was all so different, there was no expectations, no pressure - if she wanted to come over she would, and if she didn't, she wouldn't. More often than not though, she did. 

New Years is different, however.  Miranda has some gala or another that she has agreed to attend.  They get into a fight, instigated by Andy (which is rare) and she storms off to leave Miranda to get ready.  Miranda leaves without saying goodbye, but as she’s reaches the sidewalk on the street, the door flies open and before either of them know what happens, Andy runs down the stairs and quickly presses her lips to Miranda's painted ones, then steps away, running a quick thumb under the other woman's lips, fixing the very smudge she caused.  "You look beautiful.”

"Andrea?" Miranda asks, standing on the steps, halfway between the car and the woman she ... has come to care for. "Yes?"  

"Will you be here?  When I get back?"  She's never asked that before, not of her, maybe not of her husbands.  But with the other woman being in such a mood, she cannot help but wonder.  She cannot help be fearful.  And she can't, not tonight - so she will lock her heart away and leave the key with the young woman standing barefoot on the steps.

"If, if you'd like."

"I would.  Very much."

And with a nod, Miranda turns around and gets into the car.

 

When she returns, Andy is asleep, curled up on a couch in the first floor study so she can hear the door.  It's not late, but late enough.  Miranda watches for a moment then approaches the other woman, hoping for another few minutes of peace.  She doesn't know what comes next, and for a woman like Miranda, that's not a common or welcome occurrence.  She didn't think of Andrea much once the car pulled away from the curb, not until it neared the time for her to exit... To be honest, she was half expecting the house to be empty, despite their kiss, despite her request.  She wouldn't blame the other woman for leaving if she did, and se suspected she still might by the time the night was over - maybe she was -

"You're home!"  She said, both the sleep and the smile evident in her voice.  

"I didn't mean to wake you -"

"No - I wasn't sleeping!"  She sat up, her ponytail sticking every which way.  "How was it?  She yawned and stretched and Miranda momentarily lost the ability to speak by the display of a swath of skin between the hem of Andy's shirt and pants.  "Good.  It was good."

"Only good?  How disappointing."  Andrea stood and placed a hand on Miranda's hip then a kiss on her cheek, somewhere near the ear and the jaw that drove her to distraction.  "If you're hungry - I had a plate ready for you..."

"You do?"

"You don't eat at these things, and even the Great Miranda Priestly needs nourishment.  Turn around."

"Hmmm?" Miranda asks, but complies, and Andrea unzips her pewter gown from the back, placing a light kiss at the nape of her neck. 

"How domestic you are tonight dear."  She teases,

"You haven't seen the half of it... Go get changed.  Would you like anything to drink?" Andy asks as she turns towards the kitchen.  "Oh, just whatever you're having." Miranda finally calls out as she regains her senses.  This happens often, the fog of disorientation that seems to follow wherever and whenever Andrea was around.  Picking up the hem of dress, Miranda heads out of the study to change...

As they eat.

"Are you embarrassed of me?"

"What?  Andrea?"

"I was... wondering why you don't ever ask me to these things...And then I realised, -"

"You realised what?"

"I realised... I don't know... are you embarrassed of me?"

"Andrea - this is ridiculous.  Do you want me to flatter you?  Say that you're beautiful and charming and anyone would be proud to have you on their arm?  Because they would.  Tell me, dearest, do you even enjoy these things?  Would you even have a good time?"

"Well -"

"Because unless something has drastically changed, you won't - you don’t…"

“But you don’t have to go alone, not if you don’t want to.  Or you can.  It’s just… I want you to be…not embarrassed of me.”

“Andrea - I would be proud of you.  I am proud of you.  If you came with me though, it would just open you up to a host of all sorts of slanderous gossip and innuendo.  That you’re only with me -”

“For you body?”  Andy teases, moving in begin kissing Miranda’s neck and jaw, ready to change the topic of conversation.  

 

 

**Chapter Twenty**

 

February

Andy comes home late one day and crawls into bed, exhausted.  Miranda is unaccustomed to being the first one in bed... She smells the ink on Andy and wakes up... They begin to have sex and when Andy moves to start to go down on her, Miranda shuts it down, finally admitting that Stephen didn't like to do it and so she’s just uncomfortable with anyone there.  Andy tells her it's like a warm shower on a cold morning, a cold coke on a hot day and home…They begin to have sex again, and Miranda asks her she’d be willing to try if Andy wants to.

Afterwards, Andy tells Miranda she’s being published in the New Yorker.  Miranda turns around and tosses her pillow at Andy for keeping it a secret.

 

**Chapter Twenty One**

 

March/April

It seems Miranda’s powers have their reaches - there have been paparazzi photos, implications, & innuendos in the papers and blogs but nothing concrete... Andy and Miranda decide to do a coming out at the Met gala - Andy isn’t sure why Miranda insists on the Gala, but she gives in and trusts her media prowess.

Miranda asks Nigel to help Andrea, groom her in regards to her dress and train her how to handle the paparazzi that they can expect at the biggest fashion event of the year.

Doug, meanwhile calls Miranda under Nigel’s name.  “I know we’re not really close, Miranda - but I don’t want to embarrass Nigel.  This is a big evening for him too.”  Miranda tells him not to worry - simply to send her his measurements.

One day the next month, he gets a delivery of suits at his office and calls Miranda to say thanks, but she instead is at his door, “Good, they’ve arrived - change into the first one”

“Here?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”  And as they go through the suits one at a time, they have a moment to talk not about Andrea, but Nigel in a show of friendship and support.

 

**Chapter Twenty Two**

 

Interview excerpt with Julia Fullerton-Batten - the challenges of being a young woman developing into a woman, no longer young.  They discuss the self-confidence it takes in order to declare themselves an artist etc…

Miranda has a copy delivered to Andy at work and Andy is thrilled at how well it came out.  She’s shocked however when one of the photos accompanying it is one Julia took of her while goofing around with her camera, showing her something or another.  There’s a thick white piece of card stock stuck in that page with Miranda’s writing saying she couldn’t in good conscious cut one the best photos of Julia’s set.

 

**Chapter Twenty Three**

 

May

They’re getting ready for the Met Gala and Miranda is exasperated and falling back on her cutting words as she waits for Andy to step out of the guest room.  Andy steps out in hunter green velvet dress with gold braids and Miranda in champaign gold (Inspired by ‘The Sonata’ by Irving Ramsey Wiles), and Miranda is visibly shocked.

"It's that horrible?"

"No, you're that breathtaking."

"Oh, is that all?" She goes in for a kiss

"You'll muss my lipstick"

"But it'll be worth your while.”

 Nigel & Doug show up in separate cars to take Andy & Miranda - as they’re driving, Miranda makes them stop and as shemutters about her life not being a french farce she makes Andrea join her and kicks Nigel out to get into Doug’s car.

 

They step out hand in hand and breeze by the paparazzi, stopping for photos but not commenting.  As they walk into the building, Miranda tells Andy to believe that she belongs here, that she belongs with Miranda, otherwise she won’t convince others she does.  She then promptly introduces her to Sean and Beyoncé.

On her way to the washroom Andy overhears two women as they leave gossiping about Miranda, but rather than it be about Miranda and her, it’s about Miranda’s tenure at Runway nearing an end.  They walk away and Andy enters the bathroom - in the bathroom, Andrea is starstruck running into Jesse Ware.

A: Oh my god - I saw your show @ terminal last year on my birthday and it was amazing!  I didn’t know you were on the guest list.

J: I’m not - my agent got a call and said I had a private thing booked, apparently someone here heard my album or something and here I am.  

A; Wait, you’re performing? That’s incredible!

J: I mean, I am, but this isn’t my usual venue - is it true Beyonce’s out there?

A: Yes? But she seemed really nice.  You’re going to be great.  I promise.  

J: Do you?  I’ll hold you to it…Mystery bathroom person.

A: Oh, Andrea Sachs.  

J: Jessie.

She heads out of the washroom where she meets Nigel.  

A: Nigel - I just ran into Jessie Ware in the bathroom.

N: Oh.  Damn.  She wanted it to be a surprise.

A: What?

As Andy and Miranda are on the edge of the group, Miranda apologises to Andrea, “I know I can’t recreate having missed your birthday, I can’t experience what I missed, but I can say I’m sorry.”  Once the concert is over they return to their seats while others are dancing… After a song or two, the band begins to play ‘Just in Time’ from Bells are Ringing and Miranda asks her to dance.  As they dance they speak around but not about the topic of marriage but never about it and it occurs to Miranda that Andy would one day like to get married but doesn’t want to rock the boat.

 

**Chapter Twenty Four**

 

They next day Miranda and Andy are front page news all across the world.  Their phones are blowing up, #Mirandy is the trending topic on twitter etc… Andy doesn’t care, but rather asks if there’s any truth to the news she’s leaving Runway.  Miranda doesn’t deny it and Andy flips out over her not communicating major life choices.  “If I were leaving the paper, I’d talk to you about it, because that’s what we do…”  She accuses her of using her coming out to detract from the Runway

 

**Chapter Twenty Five**

 

May to Nov

Domestic scenes of daily life.  The girls have a birthday, they travel together to St. Petersburg and Prague and Paris, Andy moves in, her short story book gets a publishing deal.  On Halloween someone calls Miranda out on her killer Priestly costume. 

 

**Chapter Twenty Six**

 

Thanksgiving Week

Andrea’s parents come to NY to spend Thanksgiving with them.  Andy is worried that they’re not communicating enough - Miranda being distracted while she’s trying to talk to her.  Her parents arrive earlier than expected downstairs and the girls entertain them, they can hear music coming from Andy and Miranda’s room and it’s a sweet domestic moment.

They go to see the Rockettes - a tradition for Caroline, Cassidy and Miranda (Andy, while waiting with the girls thanks them for letting her and her parents join in).  Miranda gets a last minute call about an emergency and tries to wiggle out of the performance and in front of everyone Andrea puts her foot down and Miranda stays, demonstrating to both families that they share the power in their relationship.     

Going out to dinner after, Andy is humiliated after her mother interrogates Miranda and the girls start laughing.  She in turns threatens them with “let's see how funny you find it when you bring your next boyfriend home - you know your mother and I’ll do the exact same thing to them” and both Miranda and her mother are impressed or touched by Andy’s protectiveness over the girls.  Cassidy asks “Mom, are you going to let her talk to us like that?” Miranda responds with “Absolutely - it's time you children had some discipline”.

That night, Harold is unable to sleep and over a shared scotch, Miranda tells him she’s planning on asking Andy to marry her.  He doesn’t say anything one way or another.

 

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

 

The Day before Thanksgiving

Early Thanksgiving morning Miranda is trying to get everything ready before she has to go to work and Andy's mother joins her.

"Did you need any help?"

"No, I think I have everything."

"I…I'd like to help.  I'd like to get to know you better."

"Very well, you can ask me anything you'd like to know."

"That's not how it works."

"No it's not, is it?  You know, Christmas is the one meal I make for the girls, without fail.  I have always made it, from scratch, every year.  I'm… not even Christian, I don't think anyways.  I wasn't raised it."

"Andy never mentioned -"

"We've never spoken about it, not really… But she knows…" Miranda smiles softly.  "Perhaps I could use some help."

"It would be my pleasure."

 They begin to work in silence…

"Hal told me about… what you said."

"Yes, well…"

"You've been married before and it didn't work out."

"No they most certainly did not.  I did not work out.  Andrea - says she doesn't care about it, but I know she's saying that for me, because that's…the type of person she is, isn't she?  Always putting other people first.  Even… At the show, she wasn't putting herself first, she knew what would happen, but she was putting the girls first.  I forget that they're still… children.  My children.  And I promised them this, and she made sure I kept it.  Because she loves them… more than any of my husbands did.  And I want to put her first, I want to give her the one thing she won't ask for, because she doesn't want to hurt me.  And I don't want to hurt her.  I know I don't deserve her, but there aren't many on this earth that do, so… why not try to make her as happy as I can?"

"I can't say I'm thrilled about it, Miranda, but… I have my daughter back.  She laughs now, and calls now, and tells me little stories, and she's happy, and that's all parents  want for their children.  Hal and I know you weren't asking for permission, the Great Miranda Priestly doesn't ask, apparently, but you have our permission, for what it's worth, and our blessing, from both of us."  And with that, she returned to her work and pretended not to see the tears.  "I, am uncertain what you're doing today, but if you're free for lunch, I'd like to show you the ring?"

"I would like that, very much."  She bites her lip, like mother like daughter apparently.  "Or…"

"Or?"

"I don't want to presume, but Hal proposed to me with this ring." She pulls up the chain around her neck that held a victorian engagement ring with a modest diamond.  "His father proposed to his mother with it and same with his father… I… Andy's always loved it.  I'm sure it's not as nice as… Well, she's always loved it."

"It's beautiful, and… I am touched."

"You don't have to -"

"I would very much like to."

"Like to what?" Andy asks, walking into the kitchen.

"Have lunch with your mother.  I am stealing her for a bit this afternoon, and you will be left up to your own devices."

"Not fair."

"Life's not fair, dearest."

"Neither are you.”

 

That night, as Andy climbs into bed, exhausted from Thanksgiving prep she turns on the tv and they begin to watch Miracle on 34th St or Christmas in Connecticut.  She tries to get Miranda to tell her where she and her mother went, but Miranda changes the topic - she’s toying with the idea about transitioning to Runway’s ‘Global Editor’ a role designed to provide a sense of unity and high levels of standards across the entire Runway brand.  Andy’s exhausted but excited and falls asleep watching the movie.

 

**Chapter Twenty Eight - Something So Right**

The day before Thanksgiving

Andy wakes up early to get a head start on all the cooking for the day - as she’s at the bedroom door, Miranda wakes up and asks her to marry her.  Andy freaks out that this isn’t what Miranda wants, and this isn’t at all how she planned or envisioned, but here it is in her Northwestern shirt so faded you can’t even see the school’s name on it. 

“Andrea, sit down.”  Miranda sits up and pats the bed beside her where Andy seats herself silently.  “When do I ever do something I don’t want to.”

“Never.”

“Exactly.”  She hands her the red Cartier box and watches Andrea’s face as she opens it.

“Miranda, is…is this my mother’s engagement ring?”

“And your grandmother’s.  And her mothers as well.”

“My parents knew?”  Miranda raises an eyebrow,  “Right, you didn’t pry it off my mother’s neck.  This, this stone…”

“Is an addition, yes.  An artistic edit you can say.  Your mother will be getting a delivery later today with a new necklace with her stone.”

Andy tells her she can’t give Miranda much, she laughs, but she can give her love… She ask how she would feel if Andy gave up the paper to become a freelance writer.  She’s had enough commissions for long enough that she feels secure enough to try.  Miranda tells her she can take on the world if she wants.  Then she sends Andrea downstairs to cook dinner - she’s got work to do.

Later they share their evening, surrounded by the kids, Andrea’s parents, Doug, Nigel and a few orphan friends from the paper.

 

**Chapter Twenty Nine - Shut Up and Deal**

New Years Eve

They’ve decided on a small ceremony at the apartment of a too-famous-to-mention singer’s apartment with Central Park as the backdrop on the morning of New Years Eve with a quiet brunch afterwards.  With Miranda’s role at Runway, the expectations and scrutiny is more than Andy wants to subject herself to.  

Right before the ceremony - Andy calls Miranda on her cell and asks her to come to her room, she wants to talk to her but doesn’t want to see her and risk bad luck.  Miranda is exasperated but willing.  From the door Andy says she’s been reading about breaking the glass, and despite it not being a religious ceremony, she wants to do this.  Miranda points out she didn’t do it with any of the others (“And you got divorced…” Andy points out).  Realizing Andy’s not going to give up, she flags Carol down and asks her to grab a wine glass and a napkin from the kitchen, confuses Carol quickly returns with it.  Determined not to see one another, Andy asks her mother if she can help - and eyes closed, Andy and Miranda hold hands and break the glass together. 

A: How did we get here?

M: Because you willed it.

After the ceremony, they do their wedding photos at Bethesda Terrace in Central Park where Susan reminds Miranda that “We must hope for everything”.

 

**Chapter Thirty - Epilogue**  

The following year Nigel and Doug’s wedding announcement lists Elias Clark’s Global Editor Miranda Priestly and her wife amongst the guests in attendance.


End file.
